Puppet Strings
by Blueberrychills94
Summary: In the beginning, Cato was the perfect boyfriend. He was loving, caring, attentive, no wonder it didn't take Peeta long to fall in love with him. But it doesn't take long for his true colours to show, in the form of a protégé drug dealer who doesn't take no for an answer. He becomes angry, controlling, possessive. Peeta loves Cato but he doesn't know how much more he can take.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello guys, okay, this is how it's going to work. I'm going to focus on my three main stories: Me Katniss, You Peeta; Will you Love Me in the Morning? And this one. As for Mastering the Art of Sex, I've hit a rut with it so it might be on hiatus for a while and Getting Freaky's updates will just be irregular, depending on when I have time to get updates written for it! Hope that clears everything up **

Chapter One

The store was small. Literally tiny. And because of its popularity, you couldn't move an inch without either bumping into a person or a rack of clothes. It was no secret that the place also sold a variety of legal highs, and even if you didn't know this, it became apparent from the glass cabinet behind the till that exhibited an array of fancy bongs. But Madge loved the place and if she was happy, so was Peeta.

Madge had always been a grunge girl so places like this were her heaven. If she could drive, she'd probably stay there 24/7 but she had yet to earn the money to buy the insurance and the lessons. So every Saturday she took the bus into the city to go to this store. And then, one day, she took Peeta.

He was only in the store for five minutes when the inside of his nose began to burn with every breath he took. He wondered if anyone actually lit up the drugs they bought and if so whether he was actually inhaling second hand smoke or whether the feeling of an imminent nosebleed was just a natural reaction. Madge was lost in a sea of punk dresses, already having introduced herself to an attracted shop help man.

_Great Madge, thanks for sticking with me._

This place was well outside Peeta's comfort zone. He felt like he was breathing in tons of second hand smoke and if he met eyes with anyone, their expressions were dark and completely unwelcoming. Peeta couldn't even decipher the difference between customer and staff. They just sort of melted into one trippy mass of people.

Peeta finally found a small corner that he could tolerate beside a glass cabinet containing many different stones. Some were glass, others looked like authentic stone Some were glittery, others were luminous, some were metal. Peeta wondered what one would do with a stone like that. Keep it as a trinket? It had no other use. While he ran his finger along the glass, he listening in one the buzz of conversation that filled the store's four walls. A voice stood out against the rest, admist Madge's distant faux laughter and the discreet mumblings of the various other customers. It was the voice of one of the cashiers. The voice was warm, welcoming any and every customer with a 'dude' for a guy and a 'honey' for a girl. Peeta couldn't see the voice's owner as there were too many people between him and them.

Focusing his attention to the stones, his attention was immediately captured by a gorgeous orange stone. At the top, it was white but the further down your eyes went, it proceeded to turn faintly orange, to a lighter shade, all the way down to the bottom where it was deep orange. It was almost like the sky at sunset. Peeta wondered how much something so intricate and magnificent something would cost. The crinkled £10 note in his pocket would hardly buy a speck of dust from it. Still, it wouldn't do any harm to ask.

When Peeta approached the counter, the crowd had dispersed a little. He was able to make his way all the way to the till without having to pause.

He was caught off guard. The cashier was hot. Like properly, properly hot. Peeta almost couldn't find the right words to speak, especially when the guy focused his attention-and his dazzling green eyes-right on him. The cashier smirked, this painfully sexy lop sided grin, and said, "Hello gorgeous, how can I help you?"

_Gorgeous?! Him?!_ Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, "That orange stone, how much is it?"

The man leaned forward to get a look at said stone and Peeta's breath caught in his throat at how close their faces were in that moment. It was ridiculous and Peeta scolded himself for acting so strange. "The orange one that looks like a sunset?" he asked.

"Yeah, that one."

"£5.99."

What? Peeta stared at the cashier, waiting for the punchline. "You're serious?!" he exclaimed incredulously.

The cashier tsked. "I know," he said. "Should be more."

"How can you price something so precious so cheaply?" asked Peeta.

"I don't do the prices, sadly, I only enforce them."

Peeta resisted the urge to ask for the stone to be taken out of the cabinet so he could have a better look at it. He said so himself that he had no use for such trinkets and that if he bought it then it would probably just gather dust on his bedside table. "Thank you," he forced himself to say, smiling tightly at the cashier and turning to leave.

The cashier grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. Peeta blinked in surprise and raised his eyebrows. "Here's the thing," the cashier said, "I've never seen you around here before and I know everyone who comes here. It's kind of a gift, really."

"I'm a friend of Madge's," said Peeta. If he knew everyone who went to this shop then he'd surely know Madge.

"Ah, well, Madge is a lovely girl," said the cashier. He hadn't let go of Peeta's wrist yet and was instead holding it a little tighter. "So, what's your name?"

"Peeta," Peeta said slowly. He wasn't sure why the cashier was so curious, nor was he absolutely sure why he hadn't yanked his wrist away yet. "What's yours?"

"Cato." The lop-sided grin was so casual, so easily placed, that Peeta found it difficult to breathe when standing in its presence. "So Peeta, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Just checking this place out. The way Madge talks about it, I thought it would be a lot more . . ." Peeta tried to find the right word without coming off as offensive.

"Grand?" guessed Cato. He let go of Peeta's wrist but something kept Peeta standing there. "Elegant? Posh? Trust me, this place is a lot more interesting than any of that naff stuff. We have many things that they don't."

Peeta stepped to the side so Cato could bag up the purchase of the person behind him in the line. He rested his elbows on the glass counter and quirked an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what are they?" he asked.

"First of all," Cato began, giving the woman who was buying an Iron Maiden badge a slightly more reserved smile than the one he gave Peeta, "we sell the best weed in the entire country. Hey, don't roll your eyes, I'm serious, ask anyone."

Peeta nodded. "Okay, sure," he smiled. "You sell the best weed in the entire country, I get it. What else?"

Cato raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that enough?" he grinned.

"I suppose," Peeta agreed. He was never one for drugs, even if they were legal, but he didn't have any specific feelings towards those who did do it. "So weed is why this store is better than all of the rest?"

"That and the fact that once in a while-very rarely-sexy customers happen upon this humble little store," Cato explained. He winked and Peeta blushed, sheepishly hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller than he actually was. It was a habit he'd had ever since he was little. Whenever someone would complement him, he would make himself smaller as if it would ward off the blush he'd feel rushing to his face.

"You're just a charmer, aren't you?" Peeta found himself saying in a surprisingly teasing voice. Now where did that come from? He didn't flirt, he was physically incapable of flirting! "Why can I imagine you saying this to all of your customers? Maybe to get them to buy your newest . . ." Peeta gestured at the glass cabinet behind Cato at the bong display. "Glass smoker thing?"

Cato laughed. "I can't discount the bongs, sadly," he said.

Peeta blew a raspberry, still unconvinced. "They're pretty impressive," he said, even though he wasn't completely sure about whether they were all that impressive or not.

"You think so?" Cato smirked. "What's so impressive about them?"

Damn it. Peeta tapped his fingers against the side of his face and sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never smoked anything in my entire life. Not even a measly cigarette." Although this was definitely something to be proud of why was he saying it like it wasn't? "I wouldn't know an impressive bong if you placed it in front of me."

Cato tapped the counter before unhooking the lock and lifting it up. "Come behind here a second and I'll show you what's impressive."

Peeta frowned. "Is that a euphemism?" he asked.

"Nope," Cato laughed.

"Is it even allowed?"

"Don't worry about it."

Peeta shrugged and joined Cato behind the counter. His heart was beating so fast, he couldn't keep up with it. He was just glad that he was able to keep his brain connected to his legs so he could move in the right direction instead of maybe . . . collapsing or something. Cato started talking, gesturing to the different available 'glass smoker things' and probably explaining which where best to use. Peeta tried to listen, he really did, but he was too distracted by the way he could clearly see the hot cashier's muscles shifted underneath his thin t-shirt.

". . . and you're not even listening to me," Cato finally concluded.

"Huh?" Peeta snapped his eyes back to Cato's, pretending he had been listening the entire time. "Of course I was."

"No you weren't, your eyes were distant," said Cato. He smiled, not seeming at all offended by the fact that Peeta hadn't heard a word he was saying. "Distant eyes like that aren't listening eyes. They're daydreaming eyes." He leaned against the counter with one elbow and cocked his head. "What are you thinking about?"

"Erm . . . stuff?" Peeta was _not_ going to admit that he had been distracted by Cato's body. It was too embarrassing. He was normally a very polite person and he didn't know where this evasive version of himself was coming from. Granted, he had never been around someone so dreamy before (wait, _dreamy_?! What age was he exactly?!)

Cato leaned forward, so their noses were inches apart. Peeta completely forgot about the fact that they were in a store and was wholly focused on the man in front of him. His breath was stolen from his lungs. "What sort of stuff?" Cato asked.

"Many things of unimportance." It became a matter of not being able to breathe and being too afraid to breathe in case his breath disturbed Cato's face, they were that close to each other.

"Do you want me to tell you what I was thinking about?" asked Cato.

"Sure," answered Peeta.

The taller man leaned forward even more, so his mouth brushed the smaller boy's ear. Peeta suppressed a shiver, forcing himself to hold his composure. "I was-and still am-trying to picture exactly what you'd look like the moment where I make you orgasm," he purred.

Peeta almost choked on his own saliva. Had Cato really just said that?! "What makes you think you'll make me orgasm at all?" he demanded to know.

Cato rolled his eyes and trailed his fingers up Peeta's arm. "Trust me, when I want something, I always make it my top priority to get it."

"And you want to know whether your imagination serves you correctly and you'll be capable of seeing my orgasm face?" Not that Peeta really had a specific face for it but Cato would get the point. In all honesty, it didn't sound all that bad.

"Are you a screamer, Peeta?" Cato asked thoughtfully, as if trying to piece the perfect image together in his head. "Or do you whimper like a mouse?"

"How did we even get into this topic?" asked Peeta. He was feeling extremely hot all over, like he'd been dropped into a deep fat fryer. Cato didn't look all that bothered, the perfect smirk still gracing his face.

"Peeta?" Madge appeared at the counter, causing both men to step back and turn towards her. "Why are you behind the counter?"

"Cato was just explaining to me which bongs are the most . . . impressive," Peeta said, forcing himself to stop sounding hysterical, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "And which ones should be avoided. Not that I'd really need it since I don't smoke but the topic just sort of . . . came . . . up."

"Hello, Miss Undersee, good to see you again," said Cato, annoyingly calm.

"Hi Cato," Madge replied. Thankfully she didn't seem to suspect anything, a smile burned into her face like it had been welded there. "How are you?"

"Good, good. All the better for meeting your friend Peeta here," Cato answered. As if to punctuate the point just made, Cato reached out and grabbed Peeta's ass underneath the counter. Peeta squeaked and immediately shoved his knuckle into his mouth to silence himself, knawing on the appendage like his life depended on it. His blood heated up and he felt sweat break out across his top lip, his body waking up at the alien touch.

Madge was unaware of this, however, and chatted away to Cato about the new _System of a Down _emblems that had come in and about how they made more sense than the Nirvana ones as all wannabe gungers always bought things to do with Nirvana. Peeta barely understood half of what they were saying, which he guessed was a good thing since his mind was too busy focusing on the fact that Cato wasn't letting go of his butt and was instead keeping his hand pressed against the backpocket of his jeans.

When Madge left the store (her mother called demanding she get back home early and before she could even think about apologizing to Peeta, Cato said he'd make sure he got home safely), Peeta pulled himself away from Cato and stared at him like he were a mad man. "You can't grab people like that!" he exclaimed.

"You can if they've been giving you the signals ever since you laid eyes on each other and have an ass that begs to be grabbed," Cato said casually. He sat up on the counter and wiggled his eyebrows at Peeta, who was only a little horrified and mostly turned on by the ordeal.

"My ass does not beg to be grabbed," said Peeta defiantly.

"Per-lease, if it had its own sign it would say 'GRAB ME'," Cato grinned.

"Is this how you pick up all the men or is it just a special treat for me?" Peeta asked.

"Everything about you is special," said Cato, fixing Peeta with a very serious stare. "I can feel it."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "You're wrong about that," he said.

Cato closed the distance between them and leaned down until their faces were inches apart. "I'm not wrong about anything," he said sternly. He sounded so sure of himself that Peeta couldn't resist smiling. "My shift ends in five minutes. Do you think you'd be up for a drink at my place?"

"Well, aren't we forward?" Oh god, he couldn't be flirty. Peeta internally cringed.

Cato chuckled, obviously not feeling the same way about Peeta's flirting. "You're damn right I'm forward. As I said, if there's something I want, I always intent to get it."

When Peeta looked back on the moment he met Cato, he told himself that he should have known that something was off. He should have recognized the possessive undertones to the words, he should have realized that something was wrong with what Cato was saying. But he had been so swept up in the moment, so wrapped up in how painfully sexy this man was and how obviously interested in him he seemed to be.

That was the happiest day of Peeta's life. But it was also the day that he would regret for the rest of it.

**A/N: Please let me know what you think! I have high hopes for this story, along with my other two main ones ^_^**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Not an extremely long chapter but I quite like where I ended it so I just left it as it is. Don't expect the chapters to be updated this regularly, I just didn't have much else to do today and had loads of time to write ;)**

**Big hugs to everyone who reviewed! ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Two

The first impression he got when he laid eyes on Cato's house was that he must have a lot of money. It wasn't a building, really, it was a penthouse at the top of the Seam and Merchant building. Peeta was surprised as he had assumed that the wages one would receive from working at the store Cato was a cashier in would not be all that sustainable. So where would the money for a penthouse come from?

"The Arena is my day job," Cato said, as if able to read Peeta's mind.

"The Arena?" Peeta asked.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "The store?"

"Oh right. Is that what it's called?" Peeta felt so blonde. How could he not even know the name of the store Madge had dragged him to? Cato laughed, causing Peeta's cheeks to burn. "I knew that. I was just testing you."

"Oh yeah, of course," said Cato. He disappeared into a room to the left, leaving Peeta to stand in awe of the room.

The entrance lead out into this huge expanse of a room, fitted with a bar, kitchen and sitting room. A window took up the entire wall dead ahead, displaying the amazing view that was the Panem skyline. Never had Peeta had such an untainted view of the skyline and especially since the sun was setting, the sky looked like it was on fire. For a man who loved the colour of the sky at sunset, Peeta was in complete amazement at how beautiful the view was.

"So, what did you tell Madge when she found out that you weren't leave with her?" Cato asked as he emerged from side room.

Peeta shrugged and put his hands into his pockets. "I just told her that I was going out with you. She was pretty excited, she's been harping on me to socialize for months now."

Cato chuckled. "Sounds like her," he said. He went to the bar and pulled out two glasses. "What would you like to drink?"

"Uh . . . what do you recommend?" asked Peeta. He joined Cato, both of them separated only by the black marble bar. He perched on one of the stools and focused on breathing properly. The last time he had ever been on anything that even resembled a date had been a year and a half ago so you can understand how nerve-wracking this experience was.

Cato clicked his fingers. "Got just the thing," he said. "Just don't ask what's in it."

Peeta didn't bother worrying about why he shouldn't worry. It's not like Cato was going to drug him or anything. As ridiculous as it sounded, he felt safe in the older man's presence and didn't feel at all threatened. So when Cato passed him a glass of red liquid, he drank it without much thought. The drink tasted like strawberries but it also had a burn, maybe a sign that it contained vodka?

"Hey, that's not bad. Did you make that up yourself?" asked Peeta.

"I can't remember coming up with it, I think I may have been drunk," Cato admitted.

"Maybe you should do it more often, because this is delicious," said Peeta. He frowned. "Well, I don't mean that you should get drunk more often, that sounds trippy, what I meant was . . . well, I don't really know what I meant . . . It's just"-

Cato suppressed his laughter. "I know what you meant," he said. "Although, the idea of getting drunk more often doesn't sound too bad if it's with you."

Peeta smiled and carefully took another sip of his drink. "Did you read a book on how to charm someone's pants off?" he asked. "Or is this a natural quality that comes easily to all attractive guys?"

"Oh, it's a talent," Cato answered. He walked around the bar and sat beside Peeta on another stool. "Only a very select few of us were chosen to be bestowed with such a gift."

"While the rest of us were troubled with crippling anxiety around hot men," Peeta muttered. Cato grinned in amusement and grabbed the bottle of vodka, adding a dollop more into Peeta's glass. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Could be," Cato replied. "I mean, what else is there to do around here?"

Peeta blew a thoughtful raspberry. There really all that much you could do in Panem other than drink, do drugs and go out partying. He didn't even know if there was a park within a twenty mile radius for the kids. He could remember sitting in his front yard when he was ten, drawing pictures in the mud with a stick because there was nothing else to do.

"Tell me about yourself, Peeta," Cato said. He poured more vodka into his own drink and took a sip of it.

"What do you want to know?" asked Peeta.

"Everything," answered Cato. "Talk like you're writing a dating profile. I want to hear it all."

"Why don't you go first?"

"Because I asked first."

"Okay, uh . . . well, my full name's Peeta Mellark. I don't have a middle name because my mother didn't believe in them. I'm twenty one and my birthday's on the 12th of October. I have two older brothers and my best friend is Madge, as you already know." Peeta felt absurd reciting all this information but Cato seemed to be invested in every word that came from his mouth. "I occasionally volunteer at my family's bakery and when I'm not doing that I'm working or painting."

"Painting? So you like art then?" asked Cato.

"I adore art," Peeta replied. "I believe that there's beauty in everything and it's the artist's duty to capture it where-ever they see it, in whatever form it is that they think it would be best represented."

Cato's smile felt like it could illuminate the entire country, it was that overwhelmingly bright. Peeta returned the smile, somewhat sheepishly. "So, what do you do for a living?" Cato asked. He took a huge gulp of his own drink and Peeta marvelled at how he didn't even wince at the burn that there was bound to be.

"It's kind of embarrassing," Peeta admitted, not all too keen on telling Cato how he earned his money.

"Aw, go on. Can't be as bad as selling Nirvana badges and telling people which brand of weed is less likely to give them a bad trip," Cato said.

"The type of trip depends on the type of weed?" Peeta asked in surprise.

"No, it's just a random bag but the customers don't need to know that." Cato winked. Peeta could feel his face turning red, he was surely looking like a tomato by now. "I use it to convince them to buy the more expensive stuff. So come on, own up, how does Peeta earn a living?"

Peeta chewed on his lip reflectively. Cato watched him carefully, his eyes flickering between Peeta's own eyes and his mouth. Peeta's heart was pounding at a million beats a second. Why did he have to be so effortlessly handsome? "I busk," he finally said.

Cato looked surprised. "You busk?" he asked.

"Yeah. You know, where you do stuff on the street for the people milling around?" Peeta said.

"What do you do?"

"Um, well, sometimes I paint and sell pictures and other times I play the guitar and sing," Peeta explained. He scratched his head nervously and swallowed hard. "I know it's not a proper living but people pay generously so . . ." Cato was staring at him with such bright eyes, he lose his train of thought so he quickly changed the subject to hide it. "If the Arena is your day job then what's your night time occupation?"

Cato tapped his nose. "Very private," he said. "Although, maybe I'll tell you in the future."

Now it was Peeta's turn to raise his eyebrows. "What makes you think there will be a future?" he asked.

"Isn't there?"

"Um . . ." Peeta wanted there to be a future, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to admit this out loud. It was too embarrassing. "What do you think?"

Cato swallowed the rest of his drink and moved his chair so it was closer to Peeta's. Now their legs were pressed against one another's and Peeta was finding it increasingly difficult to find oxygen to fill his lungs. "I think there will," Cato answered. "You're great company; you can stomach my liquor and you're very, very interesting." Peeta couldn't help smiling at that. "Oh, and you're painfully sexy. There's that too."

Peeta flushed. "You were doing well there, too," he said. "Was all seeming so sweet and then you added lib."

"I always start off with the fluff to reel them in then go in for the kill with the dashingly charismatic compliments," explained Cato. "It works every time."

"Oh does it now?" Peeta asked.

"Of course it does," said Cato. "Although every one pretends that it doesn't work on them, pretend that they don't get flattered by being called sexy but their faces always give them away."

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked. He traced the rim of the glass with his finger absentmindedly.

"Well, take yourself for example," Cato said. "You're acting calm but your face is as pink as candyfloss."

Oh God. Peeta covered his face in horror, knowing that it had only been a matter of time before Cato noticed his stupid blushing. Why couldn't he just take a compliment without frying like a lobster? "No one's ever said that to me, that's all," he muttered peevishly.

"I can't see why not," Cato answered. He put his hand on Peeta's knee; the touch burning through the material of his jeans like a hot poker. If his heart had been pounding before, it was on the verge of bursting now. "Although, I am quite honoured to be the first."

"Just for the record, I have been with other people," said Peeta. He didn't want to sound like a complete inexperienced nitwit.

"I don't doubt that at all," Cato replied. He took a firm hold of Peeta's jaw and turned his head to face him. "In fact, I think the whole anxious puppy dog thing is just an act. I think when it comes down to the crunch, you'd be an animal in bed."

"You're not a very good judge of character then," Peeta said.

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh."

Cato's breath was hot as it brushed Peeta's face. The younger boy's blood was on fire, tearing through his veins like a match chucked onto some gasoline. "We'll see," the older man murmured before connecting their lips.

Peeta's breath hitched but he didn't push Cato away. Taking this as a go ahead, Cato wound his arms around the smaller boy and practically pulled him off his stool and onto his lap. Peeta melted like butter in the older man's arms, allowing Cato to take control and dominate his mouth. The kiss was hot and the passion seeped into Peeta's veins and felt almost like fuel to his drive.

He wound his arms around Cato's neck and squirmed to get himself into a more comfortable position on top of him. Sensing that he was struggling, Cato gave him a hand by wedging his hands underneath Peeta's butt and using the leverage to lift him up onto the counter of the bar.

Peeta broke the kiss to suck in some air and tried to say something but he was distracted by Cato, who had begun making up for the lost time by sucking on his neck. A shaky moan escaped him and Peeta flushed in embarrassment. Cato, however, tugged him closer as if encouraging him to be as loud as he wanted to be.

"I think I should point out that I don't sleep with people on the first date," Peeta managed to get out. His words were warbled and shaky, but he got them out none-the-less.

"We don't have to sleep together," said Cato. "But I'll be damned if I can't kiss you brainless."

"I think I've already lost ten IQ points," Peeta helpfully said.

"Only ten? We'll have to fix that then."

The second time around, Peeta's moan was a lot softer and muffled by Cato's lips. He was in heaven, pure heaven. Like an angel soaring through the sky, high above the clouds, flying over everyone else on the ground. But you know what they say about angels.

They have to fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the wonderful feedback and support you are all giving me! It's really appreciated! :) **

Chapter Three

It didn't take long for Peeta to discover that Cato was a rough lover. He was dominant but loving. Every kiss felt like a mark of territory, every touch and caress felt like a reminder of ownership. He was always in control of the situation but Peeta didn't mind that as there was something undeniably sexy about being tied down to a bed while your boyfriend 'abused' your body. They were a month into their relationship when Cato first suggested trying out some BDSM in the bedroom. Peeta had been nervous at first but soon discovered that it wasn't all that scary. As long as Cato was able to recognize the safe word then there was nothing to worry about. And there wasn't.

The part he loved the most was when Cato put him in his place by spanking him.

Outside of their sex lives, things were going pretty well. They saw each other nearly every day and were barely apart. Every Friday, Cato went to one of Peeta's busking performances and gave him a bunch of flowers. Peeta would then return the favour by spending the weekend in the Arena with Cato, giving up time he'd normally use to volunteer at the bakery. Life seemed almost too good to be true.

Peeta couldn't believe how lucky he had been. Normally this sort of thing didn't happen to him. He hadn't really thought of himself as a romantic person and he had always believed that when it came to being in a relationship, he'd either be forced to settle or die alone. Never had he imagined having such a healthy relationship.

"I'm thinking about learned how to play the piano."

Cato hummed, threading his fingers through Peeta's hair. "Are you planning to take over the world of music?" he asked. "If you add piano to your list, you'll be a triple threat. I don't know how the world will cope."

"There's just this song I really want to learn how to play. It's not usually performed by piano and I think it would be cool to be the first to learn how to play it," Peeta explained. It was almost inhuman how comfortable he felt around Cato. Never in a million years would he have seen himself staying in someone else's apartment on a Friday night, watching awful telly with his head in his attractive boyfriend's lap.

"Trust you to push against normality," Cato chuckled.

Peeta moved onto his back and started up at Cato. His boyfriend smiled at him and pressed a careful kiss against his lips. "I'm tired, do you want to go to bed?" When Cato raised his eyebrows, he added, "and I mean bed in _my_ language, not yours."

"Why? What does 'bed' mean in my language?" asked Cato.

"It's a synonym for sex in your language," Peeta grinned.

Cato laughed. "Don't worry, I won't use my incredible seducing skills on you."

Peeta smiled, sat up and slid off the sofa. He stretched, enjoying the way his bones cracked into place. "I should probably get home. I haven't been for a week," he said. "God knows what my place looks like."

Cato stood up as well with a sudden urgency that made Peeta wonder if he just remembered something. He wrapped his arms around Peeta's waist and nestled his face in the crook of his neck. "Do you have to go?" he mumbled. This was how it had been going all week. Every time Peeta even suggested going home, Cato would do everything in his power to get him to stay. And 99.9% of the time, it worked.

"I think it would be a good idea," Peeta replied. He wound his arms around Cato's neck and pulled him closer. "It's really cute and all that you don't want me to leave but I do have to go home sometime, you know?"

Cato shook his head and kissed Peeta's neck. "Please stay," he purred. "It will feel weird sleeping without you in my bed."

"Are you sure you're not sick of me? I mean, god, it's been a week. I would have thought that you'd have been tired of me by now." He had never had a relationship that lasted to the point where they actually stayed over at each other's houses. Well, it was more him staying at Cato's than the other way around. Peeta wasn't completely sure what was normal and what wasn't. Could someone really spend so much time with him and not get sick of him? Surely Cato was sick of him?

"Sick? Of you? I don't think that's even possible," said Cato. He was being extra affectionate, pressing loving kisses all over Peeta's neck and collarbone, holding him so close that their bodies were pressed against each other's. Peeta loved how Cato felt against him and felt a shiver shake his being every single time Cato held him so close.

"Trust me, it probably is."

Cato stepped back but held onto Peeta's hand. "Please. At least stay one more night?" As if already having decided for Peeta, he led him back to the bedroom. Peeta didn't protest or tell him to stop and instead allowed Cato to take him to what had almost become their shared room.

"Fine, but tomorrow you have to at least allow me to go home to collect a few things," Peeta said.

"Okay, that sounds fair enough." Once the door shut behind them, Cato twirled Peeta around and pulled him against his body. Peeta's heart was racing, Cato still managed to have an amazing effect on him. "So, what do you think? Pyjamas or just naked tonight?"

"I'd say pyjamas because being naked may be just too tempting for you," Peeta teased.

"I'll be tempted whether you're in pyjamas or not," said Cato. "If there _are_ pyjamas then I'll just have to take them off again." He kissed Peeta firmly, slipping his hands down his back and cheekily pinching his ass. Peeta's blood switched momentarily to fire, like acid burning through his veins, before returning to normal again.

"Hey, stop it, cheeky," said Peeta. He forced himself to keep his voice under control and no give away to Cato the effect he had on him. "I really meant it when I said I'm tired, you know? I'd really like to go to sleep."

"How about a compromise?" Cato suggested. "If you sleep with me without the pyjamas then I won't try anything on. How does that sound?"

Peeta shrugged with a smile. "Sounds good to me," he said.

It was amazing how warm too bodies could make a bed without the barrier of clothes. Cato kept to his deal. He kept his hands around Peeta's waist and didn't make any inappropriate moves. Peeta adored how much he could depend on Cato. Cato didn't' lie or back out of promises, like many people in his life had done before. If he made a promise, he would stick to it.

"See you on the other side," Peeta sighed, closing his eyes and nestling his head onto Cato's chest.

"Goodnight Peeta," Cato replied, the adoration in his tone shining through like rays of sunshine.

The next morning, Peeta was woken up by Cato moving around. His eyes fluttered open, sticky with sleep, and he could vaguely make out his boyfriend moving around in the darkness. Mind clouded and body heavy, he mumbled, "Cato?"

"I've been called into work," Cato replied in a hushed voice. Peeta could just about make out the outline of the older man's form as he rustled around the room, probably getting dressed. "It's pretty early, you should go back to sleep."

"What time is it?" Peeta rubbed his eye in a feeble attempt to waken himself up. He had never been fond of the idea of being in Cato's apartment alone. It felt weird, especially since it was still early days in the relationship. If Cato was leaving, maybe he could get home for a few hours to pack some things up and tie up some loose ends with his family, who were probably wondering where the hell he had gotten to.

"4:30 in the morning," Cato answered.

Well, that explained how dark it was. Peeta propped himself up on his elbows and squinted through the gloom to try to locate Cato after losing the outline again. He bunched the duvet covers up to his chest to protect his naked body against the morning chill. "What should I do?" It was more a question of 'should I leave?' but Peeta didn't want it to seem like he was eager to go. He wasn't particularly drawn towards the idea of leaving but he wasn't too fond of the idea of staying in Cato's house alone, either.

"What should you do?" Cato approached the bed and stooped over. He took Peeta's chin between his thumb and forefinger before connecting their lips in a fiery, passionate kiss. Peeta made a sound of surprise but felt himself melt anyway. Cato prised his lips open with his tongue and thoroughly explored every inch before releasing him again. Peeta drank in the sweet taste of oxygen, having been deprived of it during the breath-taking embrace.

Their eyes met, glowing green against beautiful blue.

"You just stay as exactly as you are, looking as exquisite as you always do, and wait for my return," Cato answered, his voice deep and forceful. He left without another word.

Peeta was stunned. He touched his lips, which were wet and beginning to swell, and felt a shudder shake his body. He knew that Cato was the prevailing partner in the relationship but never had he been so . . . authorative with him. Even when they were having sex and Cato tied him to the bedposts he had never spoken to him in such a way. In some ways, it was thrilling and in others it was worrying.

Was this what he was really like?

No. Peeta refused to believe it. He let himself fall back onto the bed, heart fluttering in his chest, and closed his eyes. Cato was just stressed because he'd been called into work so early and just wanted to make sure he saw a friendly face when he came home. Peeta rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into Cato's pillow, absorbing the musty, manly scent that was just so . . . _Cato._

Peeta woke up several times and Cato wasn't home yet. He began to wonder what exactly it was that Cato did. Had he been called into the Arena or had he been called to the other mystery job that Peeta had yet to discover? He didn't know why but for some reason, Peeta felt that it was the latter. Why would Cato get called to a stoner store at 4:30 in the morning?

All that day, Cato didn't come home. Peeta worried that maybe something had went wrong. Had there been an accident? He tried to think positively but when he went to bed that night, he couldn't help feeling wracked with worry. Just in case Cato returned while he was sleeping, Peeta decided to sleep without any clothes on again, to give Cato something maybe . . . nice to go come back to?

Cato did return later in the night. He slammed the door so loud that it jolted Peeta awake. He sat up and bunched the covers, heart pounding for once in a different way. The door slamming had scared the daylights out of him and for one panicked moment he thought it was maybe a burglar. Of course, this is ridiculous, as why would a burglar slam the door? It didn't really make sense.

As soon as Cato entered the room, Peeta knew something was wrong. He didn't know whether it was because of the way he carried himself or whether the anger that emanated off him poisoned the surrounding air. But Cato definitely wasn't happy. "Cato?" he asked, trying to be careful. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," muttered Cato.

"There's something wrong." Peeta was almost scared. It was crazy but there was something almost frightening about Cato being angry. He had never seen it before but there was something extremely off putting about it. "Cato, talk to me, what is it?"

Cato kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed. He didn't speak and instead pulled Peeta's face toward his for a rough kiss. It was overwhelming and it felt like Cato was pouring every angry thought and feeling into one, hard kiss. Peeta put his hand onto Cato's chest and pushed the tiniest of bits. He wanted Cato to talk to him, not try to kiss the problem away.

"What is it, Cato?" Peeta insisted, turning his head away to get a breath. Cato barely allowed him to get the words out before he dragged Peeta's face back to his. It was like when they took roles in the bedroom, only ten times more intense and forceful. "Cato, come on, you can tell me anything."

Cato still wouldn't speak. He grabbed Peeta's shoulders and forcefully pushed him onto his back on the bed. Before Peeta could voice his concern again, Cato silenced him with another powerful kiss. Peeta's heart stuttered and jumped. He was feeling a mixture of arousal and fear. He didn't know what to make of what was happening. Was Cato really angry or was he just releasing some sexual frustration from a hard day's work?

"Cato, hold on a second, just"- Peeta was cut off when his boyfriend pressed his hand against his mouth, cutting off any possible means of speaking.

"Peeta?"

His heart lifted. "Mmmf?"

"Shut up."

His heart sank just as quickly. Peeta scowled and tried to push Cato's hand off his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? He watched with increasing worry as Cato unbuckled his pants and shucked them off. The older man was almost working on autopilot, doing things without really thinking about it. Why was he acting like this?

"I'm not in the mood for talking. I just want to get my mind off a few things."

Okay, that seemed . . . alright. As long as he was okay, Peeta supposed. He calmed down a little and allowed Cato to part his thighs. He tried to move Cato's hand, deciding to keep his mouth shut to allow his boyfriend some thinking time while he allowed him what he wanted, but it was like a rock. Solid and unmovable.

Peeta forced himself to settle down. He convinced himself that it was just like when they were roleplaying. Kind of like being gagged. Except Cato's hand felt like it was bruising his face, so bad that hot tears were curling in the corners of his eyes. Peeta squeezed his eyes shut and forced them back. Why was he crying? It was preposterous. It was only a tiny slither of pain. God, he was such a wimp.

He failed to realize that he was crying because he was scared.

Cato's eyes were on fire but they were also distant. His nails dug into the pale flesh of Peeta's hips as he practically shoved himself into him. It hurt so much, Peeta whined behind Cato's hand. He had pushed into him with such brutality, something Peeta had never experienced before. He told himself he was just being a coward, that he was being a wimp who couldn't handle any pain. Cato was just being a little rough, that was all.

Peeta told himself to pull himself together. To settle down and relax. Enjoy it.

Cato locked eyes with Peeta. He smiled, almost devilishly, and took hold of Peeta's length. He must have noticed that the younger boy had been too lost in his confusion that he hadn't allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure he was bestowing. Peeta's back arched upwards and his eyes fluttered shut. The pain was mixing with the shockwaves the grip Cato had on his length created.

He moaned softly into the hand still over his mouth, his hips beginning to thrust upwards to meet Cato's own needy pushes. Goosebumps broke out across his skin because of the cold and Peeta wished that Cato hadn't pulled the covers off him. They could have done it just as much underneath the bedcovers. It was late autumn after all, it was freezing at this time of night.

Peeta wound his arms around Cato's neck and tried to make it a least a little bit intimate. The hand on his mouth finally disappeared, instead grabbing Peeta's wrists and pinning them above his head so he couldn't touch Cato at all. It was kind of frustrating but it was Cato's bad day, it wasn't his place to ruin whatever it took to make him better.

Although . . .

"C-Cato, can you ease up a little?" Peeta whimpered, his toes curling into the mattress in a confusing ode to the pleasure he was feeling. "Any harder and I'm probably going to . . . bruise."

"Sssh." Cato kissed him and pounded him harder. Tears were forming in Peeta's eyes again and he couldn't understand why Cato was being so forceful, despite the fact he had just told him that he was in pain. There was something wrong, there had to be. Why wasn't he telling him? Did he not trust him or something?

Peeta was almost relieved when it was all over which was surprising because he'd normally want to savour every moment of, what he thought was, making love with Cato. Cato seemed to go back to normal afterward, like releasing into Peeta was his stress reliever. He sighed and hugged Peeta close to his body. "I feel better now," he admitted.

"That's . . . that's good," Peeta replied weakly. His whole body was in pain, screaming with aches and needles of agony. He couldn't believe that one round of rough sex could put him in such a tender state. "Any chance you'll tell me what happened that put you in such a state?"

Cato kissed the nape of Peeta's neck and snuggled his head between his shoulder blades. "You don't need to worry about it," he muttered.

"Well, it would have been nice to know why I'm internally bleeding." It was to come off as a joke but Cato tightened his arms around his waist as soon as he said this. Peeta wished he had just kept his mouth shut.

"Don't worry about it," Cato repeated.

"Okay," Peeta said, learning from his mistakes.

"I promise it's nothing to worry about."

"Okay."

Cato fell asleep soon after that but Peeta couldn't bring himself to even close his eyes. What happened, exactly? Why did Cato act so strange tonight? What exactly happened that made him so mad? What was his other job? Would he ever tell him?

Something told Peeta that Cato wasn't going to tell him. Not any time soon, anyway.

**A/N: Oooh, is Cato starting to show his true colours?**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Peeta couldn't get up the entire next day. He lay in bed and tried not to move. Even shifting the tiniest of bits created the most horrible of tears of pain that ripped through him. Cato felt guilty, or acted that way anyway, and spent every spare second he had to care for his broken boyfriend. Thankfully, it wasn't so bad the next day and Peeta was able to move around the house again.

A few days after Cato came home angry, Peeta found himself alone in the apartment. When he tried to leave, he discovered that Cato had locked the door. Why would he do that? Didn't he trust him to come back? Peeta couldn't believe how ridiculous it was. Did Cato think because he hurt him once during sex that Peeta would want to leave? Surely he wasn't that paranoid?

Days went on and Cato spent more and more time outside the apartment. And the more time Cato spent outside the apartment, the more time Peeta spent _inside_ the apartment. He never got home to get his own clothes and was forced to wander around the place in his underwear and one of Cato's t-shirts. Every time he brought it up with Cato, his boyfriend always brushed him off.

It was getting a little irritating.

Peeta He felt like he was drowning in Cato's clothes, like a baby in its dad's garments but Cato kept insisting that it was sexy. What had brought on Cato's change in demeanour was beyond Peeta and he worried that maybe work was beginning to press down on him. Peeta hoped that Cato would maybe get better when his workload lifted but the hope didn't seem to be working.

He wished Cato would tell him what exactly it was he did for a living when not at the Arena.

Whatever it was, it was certainly stressing Cato out. The older man would come home angry, coiled up like a spring, and no matter what Peeta tried to do to help, he'd get snapped at none the less. Peeta knew that it wasn't Cato's fault and if he had to work two jobs then he'd probably be snippy too, but it was getting harder and harder not to get agitated by getting his head bitten off every time he tried to help.

Although there was one thing he could always do that helped. No matter what mood Cato was in, he'd always be up for sex. Now, Peeta didn't mind that, all healthy relationships have intimacy, but when it begins to become a dominating part of said relationship then it becomes a cause for concern. Peeta was beginning to feel like a sex toy, milling about the apartment in his underpants until Cato came home and fucked him blind. That wasn't any way to live. It wasn't any way to have a relationship either.

Peeta lay on the couch, three weeks after having last left the apartment, staring at the ceiling. Cato would be back any minute, he could sense it. Propping himself up on his elbows, Peeta pulled his shirt up a little and looked at his hips. Peppered with bruises. Not just faint, brown-ish ones. Deep, angry purple and black ones. How could he never feel those when he was receiving them? Surely he'd feel _something._

The lock on the door switched and Peeta quickly pushed the shirt back down. Cato came into the apartment, weirdly happy for the first time in . . . forever. "There's my gorgeous boyfriend!" Cato exclaimed, his grin so wide it almost mimicked a grimace. Peeta was slightly taken aback and wasn't prepared for when Cato lifted him off the couch and twirled him around. He yelped and grabbed Cato's arms for balance, the apartment spinning around in a whirlwind of colours. When the twirling stopped, Peeta barely had a chance to think before Cato claimed his lips in a shearing kiss. It was powerful, as usual, but held a certain warmth to it. Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes to reach Cato's height and wound his arms around his neck. Fingers danced down his spine and a hand playfully groped his ass. Peeta moaned softly before pulling back from Cato and raising an eyebrow.

"You've certainly changed your tune," he said.

"You bet I have," Cato winked. "Everything's worked out."

"What's worked out?"

"Everything!"

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that, but what's everything?"

"It doesn't matter now, because it's worked out," said Cato. He kissed Peeta again, much more firmly this time, and hoisted him up by his thighs so they were eye level. Peeta locked his ankles at the small of Cato's back and framed his face in his hands.

"Are you sure? You haven't been yourself lately. I almost thought you'd . . . changed," he said. This was true. Sometimes Peeta even contemplated breaking up with Cato and he would have if he hadn't been so afraid of what Cato might do to him if he did. Not that he thought Cato would do anything _to_ him, per say, he had just always hated confrontation, ever since he was a little boy.

"Changed? Me? Never," grinned Cato. "I've just been going through a rough patch at work." He frowned. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you or . . . have been not myself."

Peeta smiled. "It's alright," he said. Cato kissed the tip of his nose and he giggled childishly. Their lips joined, melding together in one, long, sloppy kiss. It was like he was a teenager again, making out with his first boyfriend on the park bench when he was seventeen. He barely noticed Cato carrying him to the bedroom while they kissed and only realized when he was laid down on the soft cotton of the duvet. "We don't have to have sex," he said. "We could just . . . talk."

Cato crawled onto the bed like a predator, caging Peeta's tiny frame underneath his sturdy one. "But I want to make you feel good. I'm so happy right now, you could feel the same way." He suggestively curled his fingers around the bulge in Peeta's (well, technically Cato's) underwear. "It seems to me like you want this just as much as me."

"There's other ways to feel happiness," Peeta groaned, his battered hips betraying him as they lifted and rolled into Cato's hand.

"But this is the best one, don't you think?" teased Cato. He kissed Peeta again and none-too-gently grabbed his hips. Peeta suppressed a wince and tried to grin and bear it as Cato slid the underwear down his legs and threw it off to the side. Whether Cato noticed the bruises or he refused to acknowledge them, Peeta didn't know, but Cato didn't even spare them a second glance as he hastily tugged off his own clothes and pulled Peeta into his lap.

"Careful," Peeta whispered, although his voice was so small he knew that Cato wouldn't hear him. Cato kissed his neck vehemently, slowly slipping the buttons out of his shirt until the fabric parted down the middle. Peeta moaned as Cato's warm hands pushed underneath the fabric and wound around his waist, slipping down his back under his fingers brushed his rear.

"I love your cute little rump." Peeta yelped when Cato smacked his butt before grabbing his cheeks and massaging them in his hands. The once startled sound melted into an almost serene purring noise and, to hide his embarrassment, Peeta buried his face into Cato's neck. "It's one of the only things that keeps me going when I'm having a hard day. Knowing I can come home and plough your tight little hole is worth the frustration."

Peeta felt his cheeks heat up._ More like taking your frustration out on me._

"And you know how much I love . . . waiting for you to come home." Why was he lying? Cato surely knows that there are better things Peeta could be doing with his day other than sitting around waiting for him to come home every night?

"I know you do," Cato murmured breathily into Peeta's ear. "You're like a beautiful housewife that way."

Housewife? Peeta almost scoffed but was thrown off when Cato spread his cheeks and pushed the first finger into his hole. They had done this so often now, it barely took Cato ten seconds to find his sweet spot. And once the sweet spot was found, rational thought would be thrown out the window. True to the statement, as soon as Cato brushed the tiny bump, Peeta moaned so loudly, he knew he'd be ashamed of it later. His back arched into Cato and his nails scrabbled at his back.

Cato inserted a second and third finger, stretching Peeta and preparing him for what was about to come. The younger boy mewled in pleasure, the sound turning into a high pitched squeal as Cato roughly pulled him down onto his manhood. Peeta gasped as a shudder wracked his spine and he bit his lip to ward off any more embarrassing sounds. He hated that he was loud when he was having sex and tried to fight it off as much as he could manage.

Cato laid Peeta down on his back and quickly grabbed his thighs, pulling them apart so he could thrust faster into him. Peeta closed his eyes, a purr bubbling up in his throat as his hips lifted to meet his lover as he plunged deeper and deeper into him. His toes curled into the bed and his body shook as the ecstasy built up in his neither regions. Cato loomed over him, his body caging Peeta against the bed. In Cato's embrace, Peeta felt completely safe. He threw his head back, trying to find the ability to breath, and Cato immediately took advantage of the position and started kissing and sucking on the smaller boy's sweaty neck.

"C-C-Cato," Peeta stuttered, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead from the intensity of the pleasure he was feeling. He could hear the headboard bumping against the wall and was thankful that there weren't neighbours to complain.

"What is it, baby?" Cato dragged his lips down his neck, tasting the sweat that gathered between his collar bones.

"I c-c-can't hol-hold on much l-l-longer." Peeta always felt the need to tell Cato when he was about to cum as he hated doing it spontaneously and without warning Cato first.

Cato's lips latched onto one of Peeta's nipples and began to suck. Peeta screamed, his hand flying to his mouth to horror at the ugly sound. Cato grabbed the hand and pinned it above his head, sucking just that little bit harder to make him scream again. It was almost instinct to use his free hand to cover his mouth again but the action was cut off when Cato also grabbed that hand.

"Can you stop doing that please?" Cato asked. "You know how much I love hearing you scream."

"Well, you're the o-only o-o-ne," stammered Peeta. Cato released him and captured Peeta's lips in a forceful kiss.

Cato's thrusting grows more erratic and forceful, especially as the ending nears. Peeta came first and he was absolutely spent afterward. He was able to hold out for Cato however and steeled himself to be able to take the continuing thrusts that aided the older partner towards his end.

Afterwards, they lay in bed, wrapped around each other. It was nice, the first form of intimacy that wasn't anything to do with sex (even though it was _after_ sex). Peeta loved being close to Cato, especially when he could so close that he could hear his heart beating in his chest. But something was still niggling at him, something Cato had said before he had pushed into him.

"Cato? What did you mean by housewife?" Peeta asked.

Cato, who had been drawing patterns on the base of Peeta's back, answered, "I meant that you're like my little housewife. Waiting for me to get home every night. All you need is an apron and a plate of cookies."

Ignoring the stereotype of housewives, Peeta said, "Well, I could get out more if you don't lock me in. Why do you do that, anyway?"

"To make sure you don't leave."

"Even if I did, I'd come back. I'd never leave you for good."

"I know. This is just a precaution," Cato replied.

Peeta frowned. He decided not to push the matter because he couldn't understand Cato's reasoning and he knew that the further into they went, the more confused he'd get. It was best just to let Cato be the way he was and not question his motives. At least Peeta could recognize this and knew when to push and when not to push.

"You're beautiful," Cato flirted, kissing Peeta's cheek. Peeta rolled his eyes but smiled none-the-less. "If I could make love to you every second of the day, I'd be glad to do it."

"It wouldn't be very ethical," said Peeta. A giggle bubbled up in his throat when Cato started kissing his neck. "Although it does sound fun. Life isn't all about sex though. We can still have fun without sex."

"Oh yeah, sure," Cato replied. "I wish I could take you to work with me, it would be amazing."

"Why don't you then?"

"You're not ready for it yet."

Right. What could this mystery job be? Why did Peeta have to be ready for it? Worry churned in Peeta's gut like a sickness as he tried to figure out what it could be that Cato did all day. Maybe half of the time was taken up in the Arena but the secrecy of Cato's second job still hung over Peeta's head like a dark cloud.

"Cato, please tell me what you do?" Peeta stared into Cato's dark, green eyes, trying to find the answers to all his questions in them. He threaded his fingers through the short blond hairs on Cato's head and brushed them back from his eyes. "What can be so bad? I really like you, surely whatever it is can't be so bad that you won't tell me."

Cato smiled affectionately and took a hold of Peeta's hand. He turned his arm around and kissed his wrist gently. "I wish I could tell you, really, I do. You're just not ready for it just yet."

Peeta grimaced. "I'm not made of glass, Cato, stop treating me like that. I can handle it."

"You're far from glass," said Cato. "I know that. You're too soft in particular places to be made of glass." He walked his fingers up along Peeta's outer thigh, taking a gentle hold of his butt and using the leverage to pull him closer. Peeta chuckled and nestled his face into Cato's chest.

"Then just tell me," Peeta said as gently as he dared.

Cato wound his fingers around the back of Peeta's neck and drew his face towards his own, if they could get any closer, that was. "You have to have faith in me and believe that I will tell you eventually."

Peeta sighed. Cato was closed off about the topic, he could sense it. The fact that Cato wouldn't tell him anything still, after so long together, was annoying. Peeta tried to find something to say but couldn't find anything even remotely feasible. Cato seized his lips in a strong kiss. When he pulled away, Cato quirked an eyebrow and grinned. Peeta smiled back, a hot blush staining his face.

"I want to tell you," Cato repeated. "I just want to be sure you'll be able to handle it."

"How bad is this job?" asked Peeta. "Please tell me, go on."

Rolling his eyes, Cato asked, "Are you going to listen to me, Peeta? Or are you going to keep pressing?"

Maybe Peeta wasn't so sure about when to press and when not to press. But this was something that had been wringing Peeta's head in ever since Cato started disappearing every day. Although . . . Cato was very happy. Or he seemed that way anyway. "Of course I've been listening," said Peeta. "I just don't understand . . . You know what? It doesn't matter."

Cato's smile widened. "You're right," he said, "it doesn't." He folded Peeta into his arms and rested his chin on his head. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, I trust you," Peeta said. "Of course I trust you."

"Good." Cato sealed the conversation with a kiss. He had just rolled over so he was on top of Peeta and kissed him fiercely when his mobile buzzed. Peeta took the moment Cato slipped off the bed to grab his phone to sit up and breath. "If this is Marvel I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Marvel?" asked Peeta.

"He's from work."

"Oh, I see."

Cato flipped the phone open and sat on the edge of the bed. "What? Marvel, I swear, if this isn't important, I'm going to"-Cato paused, listening to the voice on the other line-"What? Right now? I can't believe it." Peeta brushed the wrinkles out of the quilt covers and tried not to listen to Cato's conversation. He couldn't hear the voice on the other line but whatever he was saying wasn't having a positive effect on Cato. "You seriously can't do it without me? Oh for fuck sake, whatever, I'll be down in a few minutes."

When Cato hung up, he looked at Peeta in exasperation. "I have to go."

"You just got back," said Peeta.

"I know but there's been an unexpected shipment and the guys need me to help sort it."

So Cato's job involved shipments. What could that possibly mean? Tired of trying to figure it out, Peeta simply leaned against the wall and huffed. "Fine, whatever. Go on ahead."

Cato narrowed his eyes. "You're mad with me."

"No, I'm not," said Peeta, not even making an effort to hide his anger.

Noticing this, Cato sidled up to Peeta and said, "Yeah, you are. Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"It's just . . ." Peeta trailed off, picking at the bed covers with his fingers. "All you ever seem to do when you get back is want to have sex and when we do have sex, you just leave. It makes me feel . . . cheap. Like all I do around here is wait for you to come home, fuck me, then leave again. I feel like all you want from me is sex."

Cato sighed and wound an arm around Peeta's shoulders. "I don't want to only have sex with you," he said. "You're my Peeta, of course you're more to me than just a sex object."

"It'd be nice if you proved it once and a while," Peeta muttered. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin against them. Cato pulled Peeta closer to him and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"You should know that you're more than that. It's just . . . my job . . . I'm always so busy. Whenever I get back I'm just so happy to see you, I want to show you how much you mean to me in the only way I know how. Which just so happens to be in a sexual way. I love you, Peeta. You have to know that. I'm not just in this for sex," said Cato.

Peeta's lips twitched. "You've never said to me before."

Cato nuzzled his head into Peeta's neck and smiled sheepishly. "I know," he said.

Suddenly filled with excitement, Peeta leaned back to look Cato in the eyes. "I love you too," he said.

Cato's face lit up and he framed Peeta's face in his hands. They kissed, pouring every ounce of love and passion they felt into it. Suddenly all of the anger Peeta felt disappeared. He pulled away from the kiss and said, "You go on to work. I'll be here, I promise." Peeta smiled. "I love you." He was never going to get sick of saying that.

Cato smiled back and gathered Peeta into his arms for a quick hug. "I love you too," he murmured. "I'll be back as fast as I can, I promise."

"I believe you," Peeta mumbled.

When Cato left, for once Peeta felt uplifted. He couldn't believe they finally said 'I love you' to each other. And Cato had said it first. Of course he didn't want him just for sex! He had just been paranoid. Their relationship was perfectly healthy, of course it was. Peeta knew he had to stop being so suspicious of Cato. Why did he distrust him so much? He had to cut it out. The only person messing up their partnership was him.

Peeta climbed out of bed and immediately crumpled. Tendrils of pain crawled out from his hips and seized hold of his ability to walk. He had to sit back down before the pain got too intense and looked down at himself. The bruises were getting worse. They seemed to be getting darker and angrier looking. He'd have to ask Cato to ease up next time and maybe be a bit gentler.

Bruises weren't that bad. It wasn't like Cato was beating him up or anything. They were accidents. Cato was a good guy. He _was._ He wasn't hurting him on purpose. Their relationship was fine. It _was._

Why was he pushing this thought so hard in his head? It was almost like he was trying to convince himself of something. Convince himself that Cato was a good guy who didn't mean to hurt him. Why did he have to do that?

A part of him already knew the answer.

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your support! I appreciate all of it. Sorry this chapter took so long ^_^**

**Please review with your thoughts! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Warning: drug use and hints of future upsetting scenes if you squint. I apologize for any typos! This work is unbeta-ed as I find the process tedious :)**

Chapter Five

Peeta stared dumbly at the wire. Connected to the only landline phone in the apartment, the wire ran out of the outlet on the back of the phone and hung limply about half way down. The end was jagged, the stripped metal wires lying bare and exposed. The phone line had been cut. Cato had claimed that the phone was broken but Peeta hadn't thought that the wire would have actually been cut. It was literally snipped, probably with a pair of scissors.

He got out of the apartment once. Cato came with him to his house to pick up a few things and practically escorted him back. It felt that way anyway, because of the way the older man had tightly clutched his elbow in a Vulcan grip, as if he expected Peeta to rip away and take a mad dash right there and then. However, it was nice to be back in his ordinary clothes and not have to wander around like a slut in his underpants.

He couldn't stop staring at the landline. He was astounded. Now not only did Cato not want him out of his sight outside the apartment, he didn't want him having contact with anyone what-so-ever. What was he supposed to do? What did Cato _want_ him to do? The apartment may have been fancy, but it was completely barren. All there really was to do was cooking, cleaning or getting drunk. Maybe Peeta was turning into a housewife. A caged in housewife.

The door opened and in the reflection in the window, Peeta saw Cato come through the door. He turned a little to face his boyfriend and allowed his eyes to follow the journey the older blond took from the door to the bar. Cato said nothing, until he had down a tumbler of vodka. "I have friends coming tonight for a poker game," he said once the burning alcohol had taken its toll.

Now that captured Peeta's attention. He turned around fully to face the bar where Cato stood and asked, "What friends?"

"The people I work with," said Cato.

"In the Arena?"

Cato shook his head. Peeta's heart skipped a beat as he realized that the people Cato worked with where going to be in the apartment, tonight. Maybe it would give Peeta an inkling towards what Cato did for a living when not at the Arena. Did he even work at the Arena anymore? He rarely brought it up. "The other job."

"Oh." Peeta wasn't sure what else to say.

Cato put his tumbler down, the glass hitting the counter with a resounding, _"Chink!"_ "You're going to have to look your best tonight, you realize that, right? These people are very important to my work and we need to make a good impression."

Peeta nodded. He was almost excited, finally being involved with something to do with Cato's mystery job. "Yes, I understand," he confirmed.

Cato smiled. It was half-hearted and wry but Peeta loved it all the same. "You better go get ready then. They'll be here soon."

Peeta did his best to look as good as he possibly could. He even tidied the house a little, to add to the 'good impression' factor. While Cato showered, Peeta laid his best suit out on the bed for him and got changed into his own. It was tiring work, especially for such short notice, but they got it done. Cato's mood was pretty uplifted as well, contrary to how this secret job usually made him feel.

At 7:00 they stood at the door, waiting for Cato's friends to arrive. "I only have one thing I want you to do tonight, okay?" asked Cato.

"Anything," said Peeta.

"Don't say anything."

Peeta frowned. "Why not?" he asked.

"These people . . . they're easily offended. I don't want you to say something you'll regret," Cato explained. "I know what pushes their buttons, you don't. So don't speak unless spoken to and just smile and nod."

"What am I? An ornament?" Peeta demanded.

Cato, trying to make him feel better, captured the younger boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger and pecked his lips. "It's not me, it's them," he insisted. "I could listen to your voice all day if I could. It's their losses for not getting to hear your opinions and viewpoints. Their loss for being so easily worked up. Trust me Peeta, this is just for your own good." Cato moved around behind him and placed his hands on Peeta's shoulders. He leaned in close and murmured in his ear, "If you do this for me, I'll do anything for you. Anything you want."

Peeta's face flushed at the implications. "Anything?" he repeated.

Cato's breath was hot against his neck. "Anything. I could do that thing I know you like next time we're in bed where I suck your cock and finger you at the same time," he purred. Peeta felt like his face was on fire and he forced a swallow to dampen his dry throat. He remembered the first time Cato tried that, it had taken him by surprise but in a gorgeously good way. The sort that makes your blood heat up and your body shudder.

"Doesn't have to be sexual," Peeta said, almost helplessly.

"Don't you want it to be sexual?" asked Cato, his voice almost teasing.

"I don't always want sex from you. Just like you said that you always don't want sex from me, right?" asked Peeta. Cato rolled his eyes and pressed a fleeting kiss to the shell of Peeta's ear before backing away. His lack of response worried Peeta but he tried not to dwell on it. He was about to meet some of Cato's friends, he had to make a good impression on them.

Peeta didn't know how poker worked. When Cato's friends arrived (there were six or seven of them, all whose names escaped Peeta's mind) all Peeta did was sit by and watch them play. He did as Cato told him to and didn't utter a word. There was one moment during the game where they started to light up cigarettes and Peeta forgot completely about what Cato had told him and almost told them that smoking was illegal in the building. However, Cato noticed him about to speak and squeezed his thigh tightly, a warning to keep his mouth shut. When Peeta closed his mouth and sank back into the couch cushions, jokes were immediately tossed around about, 'the good boy on Cato's leash' and 'how lucky Cato was to have such an obedient pet.'

Peeta couldn't believe how brash these people were. He wasn't Cato's pet! He was his boyfriend! And the worst part was, Cato didn't correct them.

Half-way through, the man who seemed to be the leader of the whole gang of brash friends, looked at Peeta and asked, "So where are you from?" Peeta was alarmed to be acknowledged at all and struggled to find words. He couldn't even remember the man's name. He could vaguely recall Cato saying he was from the District 4 region but that was really it.

Looking at Cato for guidance on to proceed, Peeta was met with an empty space. Shit, that was right, Cato was away to the loo. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Peeta whispered, "District 12." He hated how afraid he was of messing up. Cato had bigged it up to be absolutely catastrophic and Peeta didn't want any license for Cato to be mad. Surely there was nothing wrong with saying where he was from anyway. 12 wasn't an offensive place. A little rough around the edges with a crime population that brought down the numbers of people willing to visit Panem but all in all not too horrible.

The man smiled. The cigarette that hung from between his lips made Peeta constantly nervous, like it was going to fall out and catch fire at any second. The room was already covered in a thick cloud of smoke from the amount of the cigarette that had been inhaled through the duration of the poker night. Peeta smiled back, however, trying to be as polite as he possibly could.

"I'm guessing from the beautiful blond hair, you're from the merchant sector?" the man asked.

Peeta nodded, said hair falling into his eyes haphazardly. Damn it, he thought he had it under control with the gel. Sheepishly brushing the strands back with his fingers, Peeta tried not to blush in embarrassment.

"At least 12 is good for something," commented the man called Marvel. Peeta only remember his name because he had been the one who had called the previous week insisting on Cato's assistance. "May be a country for bumpkins but every now and then they spit out something worthy of our eyes."

What did that mean? Peeta met the eyes of one of the other guys, but his eyes flickered away quickly, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Peeta didn't know this, but the man had been staring at his legs for most of the night and only looked away when he thought he had been caught.

"Now, now, Marvel," the first man chastised. "Remember what Cato has told us about the boy. You're in their home, don't be disrespectful."

Marvel rolled his eyes. "Home," he said. "If Cato had any brains, he wouldn't live so far away from the shipment yard."

"His decisions," the man simply replied. Peeta struggled to remember the man's name, desperately scrabbling around for it in case he was presented with the issue of addressing him before Cato came back. "We cannot influence personal choices."

"I suppose that's why you don't care that Cato's infatuated with a squirt from Coal Country?" responded Marvel. Squirt? How could people Peeta barely knew be so rude about him? He hadn't done anything to them, especially not to Marvel, who seemed to be doing the most of the attacking.

"Watch it, Marvel. I have told you time and time again that that tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble."

"Oh give over, Finn," grumbled Marvel. Something clicked in Peeta's head and he almost exhaled loudly in relief. Finnick! His name was Finnick! "Ever since blondie over there has wormed his way into Cato's life, he's been distracted. We can't afford this sort of distraction right now, not when the stakes are so high."

Stakes? What stakes? Peeta almost missed the thinly veiled insulted of being called 'blondie' because of being so engrossed, trying to pick up whatever he could to do with the mystery job. Finnick didn't look interested in Marvel's complaints in the slightest. He focused back on Peeta and asked, "So, Peeta, how did yourself and Cato meet?"

"I would have thought Cato would have already said," Peeta answered. He glanced at the door and willed Cato to come back.

"He has, but I'm interested to hear your version of it," Finnick answered. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and blew some smoke.

Oh god. Peeta chewed on his bottom lip. "We met at the store Cato works at. The Arena. He was working the counter and I was just . . . there." He had never been asked the recite how he had met Cato before and he hadn't really thought of how he would tell the story until now. Well, what he told Finnick kind of sucked, he hadn't had enough time to think about what angle he would come from with it.

"Cato tells it in a much more . . ." Finnick blew some more smoke thoughtfully . . . "upbeat way."

"I've never told it before," Peeta quickly admitted so it wouldn't seem like he was holding back.

Finnick chuckled, a lazy smile gracing his features. "It's okay, we won't bite," he said.

"Although, I'd watch what you say," Marvel said. "Sometimes the dog breaks free of its leash."

Just as Marvel said this, Cato finally returned. He sat beside Peeta again and his hand resumed its position sitting on his thigh, probably preparing to squeeze again if he said something wrong. Peeta was thankful for his boyfriend's return, not having noticed that his heart had been in his throat the entire time, still managing to beat at one thousand miles per second.

"We were just talking to your beautiful partner here, Cato," Finnick drawled. "Since he hasn't been able to get a word in since we arrived."

"Oh yeah?" Cato asked, slightly hesitantly. He glanced at Peeta with narrowed eyes. "What did he say?"

"Not much," admitted Finnick. "But enough for me to be convinced that he is a treasure."

"As you so adamantly put it," the guy who had been staring at Peeta's legs muttered.

Peeta smiled. Cato had been talking about him? He called him a treasure? Cato smiled as well and wrapped an arm loosely around Peeta's shoulders, pulling him tighter against his body. "I'm so glad you think so, Finnick," he said. What was this? A rite of passage? Did Cato need permission from Finnick or something to date someone?

"I think he would get along swimmingly with Annie and the girls," said Finnick. Smoke slipped out from between his lips as he spoke, polluting the air around them. "We should definitely arrange something for the four of them."

"Sure, bring them around next time you're round here," said Cato. "Peeta's always cooped up in his apartment anyway, might as well have some company."

_He's talking as if I have a choice,_ Peeta thought bitterly. _I hardly have a choice in anything anymore._

As the night wore on, Peeta realized that the poker game was going to last into the wee hours of the morning. Desperate to stay awake and be as involved as he possibly could, he took five in the bedroom to sort himself out and to splash some water on his face in the en-sutie bathroom. To make it look like he wasn't exhausted, he pretended to be tidying up the coats that lay on their bed in a messy pile.

"It's certainly taking you a while to fix these coats."

Peeta jumped and turned around to find Finnick leaning in the doorway, a fresh cigarette wedged between his fingers. "They're just . . . very messy," Peeta said quietly.

"You don't talk much," commented Finnick.

There was a reason for that. "I have nothing to say."

"Why do I feel like you're lying?"

Peeta shrugged, trying to seem as indifferent as possible. This, however, only encouraged Finnick and gave him room for more poking. "Cato really hasn't told you about what we do, has he?" he asked. Peeta straightened up. If he were a dog his ears probably would have perked up with interest. He shook his head. "Good. It's better that way."

"Does your . . . partner . . . know what you do?" asked Peeta.

Finnick pursed his lips. "Annie learned long ago not to complain. So, yeah, she knows what I do. But it took me three years to trust her enough with the information."

Peeta tried not to fidget too much so he wouldn't give away how nervous he was. Picking up a coat and beginning to fold it, he asked, "So how long have you been with Annie?"

"Coming on six years," Finnick said. He sighed, almost nostalgically. He met Peeta's eyes and Peeta realized with a jolt that they were green, like Cato's. Only Cato's eyes were much more striking. "Of course, we're not exclusive."

"After six years?" Peeta asked in alarm.

"Well, Annie's exclusive. I'm not," said Finnick, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I'll do anything on legs, me. I wanted to be like those swinger couples but Annie didn't want that. So she stays at home doing the dishes and the laundry while I go out and envy my colleagues and their interesting finds in the relationship department."

How horrible that must be for Annie. When she told Finnick she wanted to be exclusive, she probably meant the both of them, not just her. Finnick, however, had not gotten the message and took it as something else completely. Peeta didn't know how to respond so instead hummed his pretend approval and continued folding the coats and jackets.

Finnick moved away from the doorframe and began to approach Peeta. Keeping his cool, Peeta kept folding. He didn't know what he was going to do when he ran out of jackets but he'd figure it out when the time came. Finnick was right behind him now, practically breathing down his neck. "But out of all of them, you are by far the most interesting," the older man admitted.

_Probably because I'm not allowed to say much,_ thought Peeta.

Finnick's arms suddenly came around his waist and Peeta froze, completely taken aback. He stood there, solid as a rock, as Finnick placed his hands on his hips and pushed his front up against Peeta's back. Peeta wanted to shout for Cato but, in the position they were in, he didn't want Cato to run in and see it. Who knew what sort of hell would break loose if that happened.

"Anytime you get bored of being with Hadley, I'm only a phone call away," Finnick murmured, his teeth taking a tentative nip of the smaller boy's earlobe. Every instinct told Peeta to run but he was completely shocked into stillness. What was happening?! "There's something different about you but I don't know what. I think the only way to find out is to see you unravel. But I am an honourable man and do not rape or molest. I'd rather you come to me first."

Well, that was something, at least. He wasn't about to be sexually abused. Peeta tried not to exhale too loudly.

"Just remember that my door is always open," said Finnick.

"W-Will d-d-do," stuttered Peeta.

When Finnick let go of him and disappeared into the bathroom, Peeta couldn't get out of the room fast enough. He practically flew back into the sitting room and sat beside Cato, clinging to him like a human barnacle. Once he was sitting, he noticed a thin line of white powder sitting on the coffee table where the poker game had previously sat.

"What's that?" asked Peeta.

Cato handed Peeta a straw and grinned. "Find out for yourself," he said.

"Cato, that looks like cocaine. I don't do drugs," Peeta whispered, trying to be quiet so the other guys didn't hear.

Rolling his eyes, Cato said, "It's not cocaine. It's nightlock."

"I've never heard of nightlock," said Peeta.

"It's perfectly safe. What puts people off is the fact that it has to be consumed like cocaine. Try it. Trust me, it's not that bad," Cato explained.

Peeta hesitantly shook his head. "I don't think I should."

"Go on, live a little," Cato teased.

"I don't think"-

"Peeta." Cato's tone of voice was teetering on the edge and the sternness of it made Peeta fall silent. "Take it."

Scared of how Cato would react if he said no, Peeta leaned over and placed the straw to his nose. His hands shook a little and he felt horribly nervous. Cato wouldn't give him anything that would hurt him anyway, so why was he so worried? Telling himself to man up, Peeta sniffed as hard as he could, until a gust of the white powder shot up his nose like a torrent.

Almost immediately, his pupils blew up and his world slid out of place.

That was the last thing he remembered from that night.

Snippets of what happened after that returned to him in what felt like a dream but nothing entirely substantial. Peeta woke up the next morning feel obliterated with no recollection what-so-ever of what happened the previous night. He didn't want to wake up, because his head was pounding so hard that it felt like his skull was going to explode. Besides, he was wrapped up in Cato's arms, the embrace warm and cosy. His own arms were around Cato's slim waist and he could feel both of Cato's hands in his hair. The soft snores coming from his boyfriend indicated his current state of consciousness.

Wait . . . that was weird.

It almost felt like someone was grabbing his ass.

Peeta forced his eyes open, feeling the urge to hiss as the light attacked his eyeballs, and turned around in Cato's arms in a way that didn't wake him. What he saw next scared the living shit out of him. Peeta screamed in surprise, successfully waking up Cato and their uninvited bed mate, Finnick.

"What?!" Cato exclaimed, shocked to have been woken so brashly.

Peeta was too busy bunching the sheets up to cover himself to answer Cato's question. In doing so, he successfully removed most of it from Finnick's side of the bed, exposing the older man's tanned, toned body. "What happened?!" Peeta exclaimed. "I can't remember anything!"

"Hey, it's okay." Cato placed his hands on Peeta's shoulders to calm him down, rubbing the tensed muscles as gently as possible. "Finnick just drank too much and didn't have a place to stay so I told him he could stay here."

"I'd have slept on the couch but I have a bad back," Finnick helpfully put forward.

Peeta couldn't relax, despite Cato's rubbing, and massaged his throbbing temples to smother the blinding headache he was currently experiencing. He tried to remember last night but couldn't recall a single detail. All he knew was that there were two other people in the bed with him, all three of them were naked, and he felt like he had drank a whole bottle of vodka and a half last night. "Then why was he grabbing my ass?" he muttered.

Cato rolled his eyes. "Probably an accident. You can't help where your hands go when you're sleeping." Finnick watched on, unbothered and looking slightly amused. Something told Peeta it wasn't an accident at all. He leaned into Cato some more and used the covers as a shield between himself and Finnick.

"Why can't I remember anything?"

"You took the nightlock, remember?" Cato said.

"I . . . oh. Yeah."

"Sometimes the effects cause temporary amnesia. Nothing severe," explained Finnick. Peeta resisted the urge to scowl at the man. How many other partners of colleague's pants had he tried to worm his way into? Peeta knew for a fact he wasn't the first. "I'll go wash up and leave you two lovebirds alone for a while." Peeta didn't watch Finnick leave.

As soon as the door shut, Cato tipped Peeta's chin and captured his lips. He placed his hand on the smaller boy's knee, his thumb rubbing against it comfortingly. "You know what Joel told me last night?" Cato murmured.

"Joel?" asked Peeta.

"The guy from Finnick's District."

"Riiigghht," said Peeta, pretending that he remembered. "What did he tell you last night?"

Cato placed an open mouthed kiss to the spot underneath Peeta's jaw, letting his lips linger there before answering. "He said that you may be short, but you have legs that go on forever."

"Is that a good thing?" Peeta frowned.

"Trust me, it's a good thing."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with your friends looking at me and talking about me in that way," said Peeta.

Cato pushed the covers away so they were bare and exposed to the four walls of the room. Lying down, he pulled Peeta on top of him. "Don't be so sensitive," Cato muttered, sleepily nuzzling Peeta's head while blindly reaching for the covers again. "They're looking at you in a good way. You're acting as if they all see you as an ugly fuck."

Peeta rolled his eyes. Cato grabbed the covers and pulled it back over them both, the sheets providing warmth to their naked bodies. "Is Finnick your boss?" asked Peeta.

"Yes, he is," said Cato.

"Of the mystery job?"

"Uh-huh."

"What _is_ it, Cato?" asked Peeta.

There was a pause before Cato answered. "You're going to find out," he said. "Very soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: This chapter contains upsetting themes; forced drug use; regular drug use; violence; hints of future sexual exploitation and erotic illusions.**

Chapter Six

Meeting the girlfriends of Cato's friends was like walking into a scene from the 50's. Cato had a shift at the Arena but transported Peeta to Joel's house, where the girlfriends were apparently meeting up. It was terrifying, having to step into an alien environment without having Cato by his side, expected to make friends with a group of people who all knew each other but didn't know him. When he crossed the threshold of the house, he felt like he had stepped back in time.

Four girls sat in the living room in a loose-knit circle around a coffee table. They were dressed up as if they were going to a party as their faces were covered in make-up, their hair was done up in fancy fashions and their dresses looked expensive. Not that Peeta was one to judge, Cato had bought him a designer brand of jeans and pricey button up shirt just for this meeting. What was the use in it? He knew that first impressions were everything but surely buying new clothes just for the purpose of meeting four new people.

One of the girls, a dark haired woman nestled in the armchair knitting what looked like a sweater, looked up and smiled. "Hello. You must be Peeta, right?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Peeta replied uncertainly. He lingered in the doorway, unsure about entering the living room at all.

"Come in, come in, you look like a stranger," the sweater-knitter smiled. She waved him in and gestured at the only remaining empty seat. "My name's Clove. That's Glimmer, Annie and Katniss." Peeta smiled his welcome and eased himself into the empty seat. His waist and hips were still a little tender with bruises so actions such as sitting and moving around killed. "So," Clove began, "you're Cato's boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Peeta answered, his trembling fingers playing with each other. He hated meeting new people, it was so nerve wracking. Especially now, since Cato expected him to get along with them. "I am."

"I suppose you've met the crew then? Finnick, Marvel, Joel?" asked Glimmer.

Peeta nodded. "Are all of you their . . . ?"

"Girlfriends? Yeah," Glimmer answered. "Except Annie. She's a wife."

"Finnick's?" Peeta asked. The timid looking girl with chocolate brown hair met Peeta's eyes. Annie. There was something, something in those dark green iris' that told him that she knew exactly what her husband got up to behind her back. She knew exactly what he could do and she didn't care. Not that she didn't care, she had no other choice but to not care.

Why did Cato want him to do this again?

"Yes, Finnick's," replied Annie. She smiled brightly, too bright so may argue.

"Oh course, Gale wasn't there because all he ever seems to do now-a-days is sit in the shipment yard," Katniss said. "He practically lives there now." She reached out and picked a teacup off the coffee table, taking an almost grumpy sip. When she put the teacup down, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her purple skirts and smiled. That's all these girls seemed to do. Smile. "So, where are you from?"

"District 12," Peeta answered. He felt weird sitting with the women, like an alien or an outlier. He didn't feel like he belonged. "The Merchant Sector."

"Small world," said Katniss. She placed a hand on her chest, over her heart. "I'm from the Seam Sector of 12." That came as a surprise to Peeta. The Merchants and the Seam citizens kept well to themselves and didn't really mix. District 12 was segregation at its finest. Most of 12's citizens didn't even leave the proximity of the District edge. His family had been an oddity, he didn't know that others left as well.

"Isn't Miss Cartwright from the Merchant Sector of 12?" asked Glimmer. She didn't look up from her work of sewing together a hat, a pair of green glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Her fingers were scarlet red, like she'd been clutching the needle all night.

"I think so," Annie replied. Peeta could vaguely remember a shoe store owned by Cartwrights but he had never known the family all that well. "You're right Katniss. Small world."

"Keeps getting smaller every day," muttered Clove.

Conversation continued to bounce between them and Peeta felt a lot more relaxed with the girls that he had done with the guys. Maybe that said something about what part he played in his relationship with Cato regarding who wore the pants and who didn't, since Peeta was perfectly content sitting chatting a group of girls knitting than playing poker and smoking. Although, there was something about the girls. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on until he had been with them for about two hours. Because that's when the conversation changed dramatically.

"Will Joel be coming home tonight?" Katniss enquired. Peeta had learned that Joel was Clove's boyfriend, both of them having met when Finnick and Cato arranged for them to be set on a blind date. That left Glimmer as Marvel's girlfriend. Peeta couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her, since his first impression of Marvel wasn't all that pleasant.

"No, they're going back to Cato's, actually," Clove replied.

Peeta blinked, surprised. Cato hadn't told him that. "They are?"

"Mmm-hmm. Another poker game," said Clove. She lifted her eyes from her sweater to Peeta and softly said, "Although we all know what that really means."

"What does it mean?" asked Peeta.

"Drugs," Glimmer said. "Lots of it. Nightlock, mostly."

Peeta shuddered at the memory of practically being forced to inhale Nightlock by Cato right after he had been propositioned by Finnick. He couldn't remember what the drug did to him, all he knew was that it made him forget the rest of the night completely. "Where do they get the drugs from?" he asked. "Does it come from the Arena?"

A silence settled over them as none of the girls answered. Peeta wondered why they were so reluctant to answer his question. Surely it was reasonable enough. Where did all the Nightlock come from? He knew the Arena dealt with some legal highs but from what he now knew of Nightlock, surely it was illegal.

"It comes from a reliable source," Annie finally muttered. Peeta found her to be very quiet, only speaking up occasionally. Almost as quiet as him. However, Annie simply stating this sparked something in Peeta's head. He saw it, in all of them. Their eyes, despite the mascara that covered their lashes and shadow that shielded their lids, were ringed red and bloodshot. Every so often, their hands would tremble, as if they needed something they couldn't have.

They were addicted.

Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat. What did this mean? It had to mean something. He looked at each girl in turn before asking, "What is it they do for a living?"

Nobody answered.

"Tell me."

Still nothing.

"Tell me or I'll go to the police and tell them about the Nightlock!"

"You're in too deep, going to the police wouldn't help anyone," Clove answered, completely unafraid. "Nightlock doesn't leave your system, you wouldn't pass a single urine test, just like the rest of us."

Peeta was taken aback by her tone. "Just tell me what they do."

"They're drug dealers," Annie said quietly. "The lot of them. You're in too deep now, you have to just roll with it."

Drug dealers? No, that wasn't possible. Cato wasn't a drug dealer, he'd have told Peeta if he was a drug dealer. Or would he have? "Roll with what?" asked Peeta with his heart in his throat.

Glimmer put her needles down, her hands trembling too violently to work. "He's going to addict you to the drugs so when you found out what he did you wouldn't be able to leave him because he'd be your only outlet for a 'quick fix'," she explained.

"Cato wouldn't do that," said Peeta, even though he was becoming unsure.

"We all thought the same thing," Katniss mumbled. "But it's an airtight plan."

"So you're all . . . ?"

"Drugees?" Clove said, her voice hollow. "Yes. They shove the powder down your throat if you say no until your body can't function without it. You think your boyfriend is all that good? I've seen Cato gun down innocent men over a matter of £90."

Still in denial, Peeta shook his head vehemently. "He wouldn't"-

"Has Finnick propositioned you yet?" Annie suddenly asked. Peeta stared at her, unsure about how to answer. By her tone of voice, it sounded like she already knew the answer but Peeta was afraid in case she didn't and was genuinely curious. His silence, however, was enough for Annie and she nodded to herself. "Then it's only a matter of time."

"Before what?"

Annie's green eyes were wide, the pupil as small as a pinpoint. "Before you get stuck on the leash."

"What is up with you people and your ridiculous leash analogies?!" exclaimed Peeta.

Katniss shook her head, as if clearing something from her mind, and shifted forward in her seat. Being the closest to Peeta, she carefully took both in his hands in hers and spoke to him in a measured voice. "We feel for you, Peeta. We've all been there. Sometimes we try to stop it, try to convince the outsiders to stay out. But Cato knows that we do this, that's why he wouldn't let you meet us until now. Have you thought about taking Nightlock again?"

Peeta shook his head. "No," he lied. Truth was, he had. On numerous occasions since the previous poker game, his mind had wandered to whether Cato kept any Nightlock in the apartment or not and if he did, where would it be stashed. He was ashamed of it but he couldn't help it. It just happened.

"Liar's eyes," Glimmer reprimanded.

"No use in lying," said Clove. "We can smell it like bloodhounds."

Katniss closed her eyes, trying to hide her pain. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I really am. We always try so hard but it's never enough. Once Cato has his sight on something, he does whatever it is in his power to get it. It just so happens that you're the first person to ever step into his radar."

"What if I had said no to him when we met?" asked Peeta.

"No is but a word," Clove replied. "He'd most likely woo you into agreeing to be with him. Trust me, kid, Cato would find out everything about you, just to try and get into your pants. You're fresh meat as well, that's why the other guys are so infatuated with you. Our guys aren't interested in us anymore, we're old and wrinkled. You're a fresh face, youthful and pretty. I'd say that at least everyone will try and have a round with you before the month is up."

Peeta couldn't believe how they could speak about this so matter of factly, as if it didn't hurt them at all. He realized, with a disgusted shudder, that it had been Clove's boyfriend who had made that stupid comment about his legs going on forever. It wasn't this that threw him off, however, it was the fact that Clove had called them 'old'. "How old are you guys?" he asked.

"Between 27 and 33," Glimmer answered. "We are young-ish but our partners don't care about that. They want completely young. Wrinkle free. Fresh."

"How old are _you_?" Katniss asked back. All knitting had seemed to cease for this disturbing conversation. Peeta wished they would burst out laughing, declare that they were joking, but the moment wasn't coming. And he feared that it never would.

"Twenty one," Peeta answered. He felt suddenly weary about his age, even though it was the age most desired to be. What the girls were telling him was unnerving him, even frightening him a little.

Clove laughed dryly. "Exactly as expected. Young and baby faced. No wonder Cato's so hooked up on you."

Peeta shook his head, for what felt like the thousandth time, except this one was small and weak. Barely perceptible at all. He slumped in his seat, as if everything he had learned had drained all the remaining energy out of his system. He was spent. Peeta didn't want to believe what the girls told him but they spoke with such passion and vigour, he knew that they weren't lying. He wanted them to be lying. But it was clear that they were not. They barely knew him, what would they get from lying to him anyway?

"What do I do?" he asked, shocked by how small his voice had become.

"Isn't it clear?" Annie spoke up. All eyes fell on her and her own emerald orbs fell on Peeta and fixated there. "You do as he says. I'm sorry but it's too late for you."

"It's never too late," Peeta said firmly.

"Who dressed you this morning?" asked Glimmer.

Peeta moistened his damp throat by swallowing hard. "Cato," he answered.

"Who bought the clothes?"

"Cato."

"When was the last time you went somewhere without him or was anywhere that hadn't been approved by Cato in advance?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

Glimmer shook her head. "Definitely too late."

Annie sighed and resumed her sewing. Out of the four girls, her hands were the steadiest. Maybe after years of marriage and being forced to take drugs, she had learned how to control herself. She only said four words before falling into a deafening silence for the rest of the afternoon.

"You're already his puppet."

~xXx~

Peeta stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Cato as he filled out some papers on the coffee table. A large part of him yearned to go over and join him, to snuggle down beside him and pretend that the girls hadn't revealed everything to him. But he couldn't and he wouldn't. Everything had to be put out in the open, if he were to ever figure out the truth.

"They told me what you do."

Cato didn't look up from his paper work when Peeta spoke. He continued writing without a flicker of recognition. "Oh?" he replied. "Did they now?"

"They told me that you're a drug dealer," said Peeta. It was difficult to keep his voice steady and every word felt like a knife slicing fresh cuts on the inside of his throat.

"And you believed them?"

"Should I not?"

Cato's shoulder shifted in what looked like a small shrug. "I just thought that you would choose to believe me-your boyfriend-over a bunch of girls you only met today," he simply stated.

Peeta frowned and stepped into the room. "But you wanted me to meet them. Why would you wish for me to meet a bunch of unreliable girls who would lie to me? That doesn't make sense," he said. "Unless you want me to have unfaithful friends . . ."

Cato looked up and the frank beauty of his green eyes made Peeta falter. He stood his ground, however, and ignored his frantic heart. "What do you want from me?" he asked bluntly.

"How about the truth?" replied Peeta.

With a nod, Cato admitted, "Then no, the girls weren't lying."

Peeta's heart fell. He took a step backwards and bumped into the doorframe. He felt light headed and dizzy, that part of him that had dared to hope that the girls had gotten it wrong collapsing in on its weak foundations. "I can't believe it," he murmured. Cato had returned to his work, as if he hadn't just dropped a huge bombshell on Peeta. "I don't . . . how could . . ." Before he could process what he was doing, his feet were taking him to the door.

Cato, however, was too fast. He leaped over the coffee table and grabbed Peeta's wrist before his hand even made contact with the doorknob. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need to be alone for a while," Peeta muttered, running his spare hand through his hair. A thousand thoughts were flying around his head per second and he couldn't focus on one thing at a time. He tried to free his other wrist but Cato's grip was iron clad. "Cato, let go."

"You don't leave the apartment without my permission," Cato said firmly, using the grip on Peeta's wrist to drag him back to the sofa where he had sat doing the paper work. Peeta only struggled a little bit, as he was no fool and knew when it was hopeless.

"I'm not your dog!" Peeta snapped angrily. "Why do you keep treating me like one? You keep this up and I don't think there could be a future to this relationship! I could walk out the door right now and"- The sentence was cut short as burning pain exploded across Peeta's cheek. The force threw him against the back of the couch and he nearly hit his forehead on the hard backboard. His thoughts had all ground down to one, frenzied thought: _Cato just slapped me!_ Peeta was too scared to move, out of fear of doing something to deserve another slap. The aftermath of the first ate at his face like a virus and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Look what you make me do!" Cato exclaimed, as if the whole thing had been Peeta's fault in the first place. Too stunned to answer, Peeta watched fearfully as Cato stuck his hand into his back pocket and searched for something that was obviously proving difficult to acquire. Finally, he grasped it and pulled it out.

Peeta's heart stopped.

It was a little plastic bag of white powder.

"You need something to calm down," the older man muttered.

Peeta squirmed away. "I don't want it," he said.

Ignoring him, Cato pulled back the zip of the bag and tried to get closer to Peeta. The younger blond, however, lashed out and tried to scramble over the back of the sofa. Cato grabbed his ankle, tripping him up and causing him to smack the floor face first. The pain was indescribable but Peeta tried to haul himself away. He wasn't going to become like the girls. He just wasn't! He didn't want to become addicted to drugs!

Cato managed to pin all his weight down on his back, successfully trapping Peeta against the floor. Peeta screamed, unsure if anyone would be able to hear him, and struggled hard as his partner forced him around onto his back and sat down heavily on his hips. Cato grabbed a handful of Peeta's hair and used the leverage to pin his head against the ground, restricting any form of struggle.

"Please, I don't want it," Peeta begged weakly, pawing at Cato's face with his hands.

"It will make you feel better," Cato replied. He batted Peeta's hands away and carefully tapped out some of the Nightlock powder into his left nostril, closing over the other with his thumb and placing a hand over his mouth so he had no choice but to sniff up. Peeta tried to hold his breath for as long as he could but as the oxygen ran thin, he was forced to inhale the poison.

Like before, this was the last thing Peeta remembered.

He had a weird dream while he was out cold.

_Sprawled on the couch in the sitting room, completely naked. His legs were spread wide and his feet were propped up on the corners of the coffee table for leverage. Cato was eating him out, slowly and sensually dragging out every lick and caress so that he was a bundle of nerves in his hands. There were people there, watching, but for some reason Peeta didn't care. One guy had a video camera and the other, by the looks of it, was masturbating. All Peeta could focus on was what Cato was doing to him. That's all he cared about. He felt sweaty and couldn't stop moaning, his throat raw from the hard driven pleasure._

_Hands touched his bare shoulders and they hunched over a little in surprise. Peeta sighed as familiar arms wound around his neck and a chin rested on his shoulder. Cato leaned his head against his temple and murmured, "I love you. Remember that. Always."_

_That's when Peeta remembered._

_Forcing his eyes open, he looked down to whoever was between his legs. His heart exploded at what it witnessed. It wasn't Cato, as he was behind him. _

_It was Finnick. _

_The bronze haired man lifted his head and winked at Peeta with a smirk before resuming his work. Peeta screamed so hard the illusion shattered and he spent the rest of the night floating in darkness, contemplating what he just saw._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Peeta lay on his side, his body too heavy and exhausted to move. Every so often, his nerves would jerk, causing his limbs to jump at random intervals. His throat was scratched raw, the Nightlock having went up his nose the wrong way and slipped down his throat. Ever since, he had been vomiting on and off, probably due to the wrong consumption of the drug. Cato blamed Peeta for it, claiming that it had been his fault for kicking out and trying to sit up when he had been forcing him to inhale it.

It was a couple of days after Cato had forced him to inhale Nightlock for the first time. Between then and now, Peeta had taken three other dosages of the powder. Dosages he didn't want but Cato had forced onto him. During the blackouts the drug caused, Peeta experienced strange dreams. Things that didn't make sense but terrified him anyway. Some of them felt so real, as well, and a part of Peeta feared that they were. Because now he didn't know what to believe about Cato. Everything up to this point had been a lie. And the worst thing was that Peeta didn't know when it was going to end. Somehow, he had a feeling that things were going to get much, much worse before they got better. If they were to ever get better.

The bed dipped as Cato returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth. As if sensing his presence, a nerve in Peeta's arm twinged, his whole body jolting due to the fact that the affected arm was wedged between his torso and the mattress. "This is what happens when you disobey me," Cato said gently. He pressed the damp cloth against Peeta's forehead, the cold feeling annoyingly nice.

"I d-d-didn't d-d-d-diso-o-obey y-you." Peeta squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, the particles of Nightlock that clung to his inner throat feeling like tiny needles sticking into his skin.

"We're not going to argue about it," Cato said. He threaded his fingers through Peeta's hair and comfortingly stroked. It was scary how he could alternate between being rough and being gentle with so much ease. "But if I've told you once, I've old you a thousand times, no sudden movements when consuming Nightlock."

"Y-You t-told me nothing. I d-d-d-didn't even want it," Peeta mumbled into the covers.

"Nightlock will do you no harm, you just need to accept it," said Cato. "It's just something to calm you down."

"Don't feed me that bullshit," Peeta coughed. "I k-know what you want to do. You want me to be dependable on the Nightlock. So I'll never leave you." A tickle at the back of his throat ripped a painful cough from his body, a dry cracked cough that felt like his throat was being torn apart.

"You weren't going to leave me anyway."

"That was before I knew you were a drug dealer."

Cato dropped the wet cloth and pulled the sick boy to rest in his lap. Ever since Peeta had found out the truth about Cato's job, he hadn't been as comfortable being close and intimate with him as he had been before. However, the mis-consumption of the Nightlock had left him slightly disorientated and confused, so he couldn't move. "You weren't going to leave me anyway," Cato repeated.

Peeta closed his eyes, not in the mood to argue. "I'm not going to become addicted."

"You don't need to. I just need you to need it enough so you won't ever leave me," said Cato. The older man smiled. His fingers gently danced along Peeta's face, particularly along the soft curve of his lips. "Finnick is going to drop by with something that will hopefully help with the burning."

"I don't want to see Finnick."

"It's either that or vomit up most of your insides to rid yourself of the poison."

Peeta groaned. Neither options sounded too favourable.

It didn't matter anyway, as Finnick had arrived a minute later. He brought with him a bag of what looked like more Nightlock, if it hadn't had tiny blue speckles mixed in it. He and Cato congregated in the main room while Peeta continued to shudder and choke. He couldn't understand how he had gotten from his life before to his life now. Why had Cato changed so drastically? Why now? Had he done something to upset him? Or was the stress of his horrible job causing him to make brash decisions such as forcing drugs up the nose of his boyfriend?

The cure was a questionable white liquid with the blue speckles floating around inside the glass. Cato grabs Peeta's hand and pulls him to sit upright, lest he choke himself again by drinking a liquid while lying down. Sitting upright brought on another coughing fit, as if the Nightlock didn't like the new angle and resented Peeta for sitting that way. Finnick held the glass to the younger boy's lips, thankfully without any indication towards innuendo or inappropriate behaviour, and held it there until all of the disgusting putrid gunk was gone.

"This brings back memories from when Annie first started taking Nightlock," he said once Peeta had swallowed all of it. Thankfully, it worked. Whatever it was, it softened the Nightlock particles clinging to his throat and washed them away so nothing remained. Peeta still shuddered a little, but not as violently as before.

Cato sighed in relief and kissed Peeta's cheek. "I was worried there that this was going to be too severe a case," he said.

"Nothing's too severe," Finnick replied with a wink. Peeta didn't look at the other man, choosing to stare at the carpet rather than his face. In fact, to avoid a whole awkward confrontation, he slipped off the bed and went to the bar in the living area. After everything that just happened, he desperately needed a drink.

While he sat at the bar, downing glass after glass of vodka and coke, Cato and Finnick exited the bedroom, both immersed in conversation. "Are you going to thank Finnick for helping you?" Cato eventually asked, sitting on the stool beside Peeta and taking the vodka bottle off him when he tried to pour another drink.

"I'm sure he knows," Peeta replied sourly. He wasn't thanking anyone for anything, especially not anyone in this godforsaken apartment. Without another word, he took the bottle back off Cato and sloshed another load into his glass. Why not? Might as well become a drunk as well as a druggie. Maybe that will make Cato happy.

Finnick appeared at his left shoulder and snatched the glass out of Peeta's hands before he could take another sip. "Better not," he said. "You're a lightweight, kid."

"Who are you to decide how much I should or shouldn't drink?" Peeta snapped. He really wasn't in the mood for any of this bullshit. After the horrific past few days, all he really wanted was to go home and be on his own. But God knows when he'd ever get home or when he'd ever be on his own again.

"Finnick's right. Go easy," said Cato.

Peeta looked at Cato with raised eyebrows. "Isn't this what you want? A needy, drunk, druggie boyfriend?" he demanded. "Well here you go! If you give me a few minutes, I'm sure I can get myself pissed enough that you won't need to deal with me while your friends are around."

"Friends are around?" Cato frowned.

"Isn't that what you want as well? So that I don't fuck up or make a fool out of you?" asked Peeta. "What did you expect me to say that would offend your friends anyway? You're a pack of fucking drug dealers! Surely there was nothing _I _could say to offend you all."

Finnick placed a strong hand on Peeta's shoulder. Peeta flinched, the thin layer of alcohol clouding his brain disappearing in immense fear of the touch. "I'd watch your mouth, boy," the older man warned. "I had to tame Annie to keep her tongue clean but she eventually got the hang of it. Don't think for one second I won't treat you the same way."

Peeta shrugged the hand off his shoulder. "Stop acting like you're my boyfriend." Finnick had a habit of doing that. Talking as if everyone was his partner. It wasn't just with Peeta. He did the same with Glimmer, Clove and Katniss as well. In fact, he spoke more about them than he actually did about his real partner, Annie. "I'm Cato's boyfriend, not yours."

"We're a close knit group, Peeta. Everyone belongs to everyone," said Cato. "I don't like it, but it's the way things are. Since you're my boyfriend, you're also Finnick's. And Marvel's and Joel's. And Gale's, as well. We all belong to each other."

Peeta pushed off the stool and looked at both men in shock. He couldn't believe his ears. "That's . . . that's . . . disgusting! I'm not going to be part of some weird psycho group who share partners! If you haven't noticed I want to be in an exclusive relationship! I knew you were hiding something from me Cato but this is fucking sick!"

Cato, having enough with the shouting, stood up and smacked Peeta so hard he had to shake his hand afterward. The pain was wild, Peeta couldn't even describe it. He just held his face with clenched eyes, praying to God that tears didn't come so he didn't seem weak. He could practically feel the bruise forming already. Finnick barely flinched at the action, like he had witnessed the same thing a thousand times before.

"Will you show some respect?" Cato yelled. "Not only are you yelling and using such foul language, you're doing it when there's a guest in the apartment!"

"Fuck you, Cato!" Peeta shouted back. Already he was sick and tired of being treated this way, and it had only been a few days. He steeled himself, waiting for the next blow, except it didn't come. When he cracked an eye open, Cato didn't even look mad. There was an indifferent expression on the older man's face, this being more fearful that him actually looking angry.

"Come here, Peeta," Cato said in a measured voice.

"No, I'm fine where I am," Peeta said, the fear inside him growing.

"I said, come here, Peeta," Cato repeated.

Swallowing his fear, Peeta stepped closer to Cato. He did so as slowly as possible, taking small steps to make his progress small. But Cato wasn't having that. When Peeta was close enough, Cato grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, his hand enclosing around his throat as soon as he was close enough. "Don't you dare talk to me like that again, do you understand?"

Eyes wide, Peeta couldn't even form a sensible thought, let alone agree with Cato. He simply stared, wondering how this could possibly be the same man he met at the Arena. How could someone change so hugely? Maybe he had a multiple personality disorder. Or maybe bi-polar. There had to be some explanation for it.

"Do. You. Understand?" Cato repeated.

Peeta could only manage a tiny nod, the grip Cato had on his throat being so tight he could barely move. Oxygen was barely finding its way into his lungs, so much so that Peeta began to fear that Cato was going to suffocate him. But it didn't last long. As any person with bi-polar would, Cato's mood shifted from angry to something different in the 0.5 seconds it took him to become so enraged that he tried to wring Peeta's neck in.

The shift in demeanour was almost invisible to the naked eye. Peeta only noticed that it had changed from how the pressure on his throat lessened the tiniest bits. Suddenly, as if provoked in some way, Cato brought his spare hand up to curl his fingers into the gold locks at the nape of Peeta's neck before tugging him forward and connecting their lips. Relief flooded Peeta but he made a mental note not to swear at Cato ever again. He could swear away from Cato, but not in front of him or at him. Peeta wasn't fond of getting killed just because he said the 'F' word in front of his neurotic boyfriend.

The thought caused Peeta to stiffen. 'Getting killed'? He actually, genuinely believed that Cato would kill him. The thought alarmed him but, when he thought about it more, the idea didn't dissipate or go away. Peeta still believed that, if Cato put his mind to it or got angry enough, he would be capable of murder. Which wasn't something Peeta had signed up for. Clove had even said that she had seen Cato gun down innocent people. In the beginning, Peeta hadn't believed her but now . . .

And yet somehow, Peeta still loved him.

Why did he still love him?

The kiss grew in both passion and intensity. Peeta felt himself getting swept away, in the way he always did when Cato kissed him, but he was painfully aware of the fact that Finnick was still in the room. This tiny detail prevented him from totally getting completely absorbed. Finnick had this unsettling effect on Peeta, as he felt like the older man knew more about him than he realized. Like Cato had told Finnick every single one of his boyfriend's dirty secrets. Not that Peeta had many 'dirty' secrets. Just a couple of things he particularly enjoyed in bed, really.

When Peeta pushed gently at Cato's chest, this only caused Cato to push back harder. "Cato," Peeta mumbled against his lover's persistent mouth. "Cato, stop." He managed to twist away, the loosened grip on his throat allowing room to turn his head and glance worriedly at Finnick.

"Don't worry about me," said Finnick, a cheeky smirk on his face. "I am nothing but a fly on the wall."

"Yeah, that's not comforting," Peeta replied sourly. Cato didn't appreciate his bitter tone and gave Peeta his second warning by squeezing his throat and applying pressure to his adam's apple. A tiny choked sound escaped the younger boy. When Cato's lips met the skin where his hand was currently clenched, Peeta recoiled a little and pulled a face. "Cato, stop. We're not doing this with someone standing in the apartment watching."

"Trust me, I've seen much more of much worse," answered Finnick. He sat at the bar, a can of beer in hand, as if this whole ordeal was a private show at a stripper club.

"Nothing personal," Peeta lied, "I just find it difficult to get into the moment when there's a crowd." Really, he had never had a chance to get into 'the moment' with any sort of audience or crowd and he wasn't keen for that to change. Why was he lying again? Why was this becoming a habit? Why did he lie to save the egos of Cato and his friends?

Cato straightened up and let go of Peeta's throat, his arm falling uselessly by his side. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. "Would you like more Nightlock to loosen you up?" he asked seriously.

"No!" Peeta blurted out. The last thing he needed was to mis-consume again and find himself shuddering on the bed while Finnick made up more of that miracle cure.

Finnick stood up. "Where is it anyway? I could use some myself," he said.

Cato chuckled, as if craving Class-A drugs was a funny thing. "In the safe under the kitchen counter," he said. "You know the combination." When Finnick headed for the kitchen, Cato leaned down and pressed his forehead against Peeta's. "You know I love you, don't you?" he asked.

"Sometimes I wonder," answered Peeta.

"Just because we share our partners doesn't mean that they have emotional hold on whoever belongs to us personally," Cato tried to explain. "I won't let any of the guys try and take emotional claim over you. They shouldn't anyway, they have their ol' gals."

"Ol'?" Peeta voiced. "They aren't that old."

"Old compared to you," answered Cato. "You're the youngest in the whole group. You're like the baby. That's why the guys like you so much. Them old spinsters are just trying to drink out of your fountain of youth. As long as you don't catch them smelling the top of your head, you should be fine."

"I don't want to be shared, though," said Peeta. "I thought our relationship was exclusive." His thoughts went to Annie, who Finnick had said thought the exact same thing. "And if you don't want it to be exclusive, shouldn't you be the one who's shared or slept around with?"

"I'm twenty six, my youth is nearly all gone," said Cato. His eyes burned into Peeta's own, urging him to feel the same way, to understand what he was saying.

"Still doesn't mean you have a right to sell me and my body down the river," answered Peeta.

Cato, almost possessively, grabbed Peeta's hips and drew him closer. Peeta winced, his bruises still painful as ever. "Your body is now my body as well," he said, his voice deep and chilling. "You gave it to me the first night we had sex. Since I did take your virginity and all."

Peeta tried to step back but the grip on his hips was too strong and he was forced to stay still. "That's not what I meant when I said I was surrendering myself to you," he told Cato. "It was a heat of the moment thing, that sentence was, anyway. Just because you took my virginity Cato Hadley does not mean that you own my body. My body is mine and mine only."

Cato laughed. "You see, that's where you're wrong. I can do what I want with it." He lifted his head and smirked. "You know why?"

Peeta eyed him wearily. "Why?"

"Because you wouldn't protest." Cato folded Peeta against his chest and held him like he was comforting a child. "You're too scared to say no to me. I could literally call Finnick over right now and tell him he could snort his Nightlock from between your abs and you wouldn't say no to me."

Peeta squirmed, trying to find the strength to worm out from between Cato's arms. He wanted to prove that he could say no, and would if Cato told Finnick to do any of the sort, but somehow a small part of him (the tired, 'get it over with' side) told him just to let it happen. Because Cato was right. Peeta was a little scared of what would be done to him if he said no. Would he get his neck wrung in again?

"You're crazy!" Peeta shouted. Cato let go of him, an unimpressed expression on his face. "Cato, I've done a lot for you. I've lived in the house with barely any contact with the outside world; I don't bring up the bruises you give me during sex; I don't complain when you make a fool out of me in front of your friends; I didn't smack your pervy 'boss' or whatever the fuck he is for propositioning sex if I ever got bored of you; I cook; I clean; I took _drugs_ for you! I abandon my entire moral belief system because I didn't want to let you go but this is just too far!"

Cato closed his eyes. The action was executed with just the right level of frustration that indicated that he was forcing himself to contain his anger. Peeta's heart started to race. Was this it? Where they beginning the break up argument?

"Why are you only coming out with this now?" asked Cato.

Peeta's resolve weakened. The answer was something he knew for sure, it was the one thing that had held him back from all this for so long. "Because I love you."

"You see, I love you too," Cato said. His eyes gleamed, the green sparkling like an emerald just freed from the rough. Every time Cato said that to him, Peeta could barely contain that spark that ignited in his chest, right over his heart. This time, however, he refused to let it affect him. He had to get everything off his chest before he chickened out of it.

Peeta looked at his shoes. "Do you love me, or do you want to own me?" The question was followed with long silence. Cato seemed to be thinking about it. Peeta couldn't believe it. A question like that should have an instant response. _'Do you want to own me?" "No."_ "Cato, you don't own me. You do know that, right?"

"Peeta, look at me."

Peeta lifted his head and started right into Cato's eyes. The green had darkened considerably. "You don't own me." Annie's words came into his head. "I'm not your puppet."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"I'm pretty sure about it," answered Peeta.

"Then how come the strings are already attached?"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Peeta, unnerved.

Cato reached out, his long arm able to close the space between them, and grabbed Peeta's forearm. His grip was tight. So tight that Peeta yelped in surprise. "Why are you complaining now? What has brought this on?"

"I'm sick of being treated like your puppet," Peeta insisted. "I'm not going to turn into those girls, Cato. I'm not going to be addicted to drugs, I'm not going to depend on you!"

"Weird," Finnick's voice floated over from the kitchen. "Annie said the exact same thing."

Ignoring him, Peeta kept staring at Cato. "I do love you. And I do want to stay with you. But not like this."

"This lifestyle is a good lifestyle," said Cato. He cupped Peeta's cheek, the gesture shockingly gentle. "I love you. I wouldn't do anything to you that wasn't in your best interests."

"How is keeping me away from my family and forcing drugs into my system in my best interests?" Peeta challenged. His hand came up to rest over Cato's. Their fingers sub consciously intertwined, despite Peeta's anger. It was a natural reaction that he couldn't control.

"If your family really cared, don't you think they would have contacted someone by now?" asked Cato, his voice soft and gentle.

The words were like a hard blow below the belt. Peeta's eyebrows scrunched together as he refused to show the pain he felt at how Cato had been able to see through him so easily. Of course his family didn't care. All they needed him for was cheap labour, which was easy to find if lost.

"And the Nightlock is only to calm your nerves. You've been so strung up and tense lately, I've only been trying to help," Cato continued to explain.

"I told you that I don't take drugs. I told you that the first day we met and you ignored me," Peeta pressed. "Because of you, my whole moral system has been broken. What are you going to do next? Force me to smoke? Or even better, start dealing drugs with you?!"

Cato laughed. Peeta failed to find what was so funny about it. "I'm sorry baby, you're not really the type we're looking for to get into that line of work," he said. "You're more of a sideliner. Like the girls."

"So what? I'm just a sideliner in your life, waiting until you have time to deal with me?" Peeta demanded.

"_No_," Cato replied pointedly.

"Then what Cato?! What am I to you, exactly? A boyfriend? A housewife? Someone you just want to come home and fuck?!" Peeta exclaimed. "Because right now, I feel like a prisoner!"

Cato actually _rolled his eyes _at this and walked over to the kitchen, where Finnick still sat. Still fuming, Peeta followed. "I'm not getting into this with you Peeta."

"You already have! Either answer me or I'm going to walk out that door right now!" Peeta stopped in front of the door and pointed at it. Cato stopped abruptly at the threat and spun around. His eyes were ablaze, a green fire burning brightly behind two tiny pupils. Peeta calculated that between himself and the door was a greater space that what was between himself and Cato. If he moved fast enough, he could get out before Cato grabbed him. "I'll do it Cato. I'm sick of this bullshit."

"You won't do it," said Cato.

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?" He lurched towards the door, his hand just coming in contact with the cool metal of the door handle when Cato grabbed the back of his head and slammed it hard against the door. Stars exploded in Peeta's vision and the room spun violently around him. He blacked out momentarily and, next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling.

"Fuck, is he dead?" Finnick sounded amused.

"No, he's not fucking dead!" snapped Cato.

Peeta groaned and, when he tried to sit up, he realized that his body was way too heavy to even attempt it. Okay, he definitely wasn't going to try_ that_ again.

Suddenly, he was being carried. Peeta's head was pounding, like there was a tiny man inside his skull trying to batter his way out. He wasn't carried far, so he guessed that Cato had put him down on the sofa. His head was moved onto someone's lap and his nose caught the musky scent that was Cato's natural smell. As much as he hated how everything was turning out, that stupid scent that was just so wholly and completely _Cato_ never failed to comfort Peeta.

"I just wish he could see things from my perspective," Cato said, presumably to Finnick.

"He won't, you should have known that," said Finnick. The sofa dipped as the older man sat down. "No one in this situation would understand. That's why you have to force it. That's why we all have to force it. It's either force it or let go."

"I can't let him go," Cato said fiercely.

"Then force is the only way to go. He's a strong kid. I'm sure he can take it."

Peeta couldn't open his eyes due to their heaviness and the absolute surety that if he did, then his head would scream in pain. A part of him didn't want to, however, as the fear of what he would see terrified him. What was his life to become now? Cato wasn't going to let him go, this much was clear, but he wasn't going to quit controlling him either.

Where was this going to end?

**A/N: If it wasn't clear before, this is where things start to get dark. I'm sure you've all figured that out for yourselves anyways.**

**Please R&R with your thoughts! Sorry for any typos! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I had planned for this chapter to be longer but since it's been a while since I updated I decided to cut it in half.**

**Warnings: drug use, abuse, violence, sexual abuse and hints of future rape, non-con, possible threesome or gang bang. Yeah, it ain't pretty.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Sorry for any typos!**

Chapter Eight

Peeta stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was himself staring back at him, there was no doubt about that. But there was something . . . off. He didn't know what. He felt so tired but the day was far from over. Cato was taking him to a party. Who's party Peeta didn't know. If he had the choice, he would stay here and go to bed but, as he well knew by now, all free will was non-existent.

Water dripped from the ends of his hair, dampening his shoulders, but he was too fixated on staring at himself to fix it. Peeta was shocked by how sick he looked. Well, maybe not sick. Maybe the fatigue was just beginning to overtake him. His skin was pale, paler than usual, and he couldn't see anything in his eyes other than sheer dread. The snow white complexion was interrupted with the gruesome stain of a dark bruise, the location of each varying but displayed often.

Cato appeared behind him, his reflection just a couple of yards behind Peeta's. His appearance caused the younger boy's demeanour to slump and Peeta sank further into the stool in front of the vanity table. He really wasn't in the mood for this party, no matter how important Cato had stressed it to be.

"Sit up straight," said Cato, brushing his knuckle along Peeta's lower back. With a tiny sigh, Peeta pulled himself back up and straightened his posture before another bruise got added to the litter of others.

Picking the hairbrush off the vanity, Cato knelt down behind Peeta and began brushing his hair. Peeta allowed him, too tired to protest and squirm. He continued to stare at his reflection; at Cato just behind him; at his hair which slowly disappeared from his face and slicked back into a still wet, quiff-like style. It was suddenly odd, when Cato would be gentle like this. It felt alien, not at all normal, like all Peeta expected from him now was brutality and rough touches.

"I don't think I need to tell you again how important tonight is," said Cato.

"No, you don't," Peeta said quietly.

"And as long as you behave yourself, you will enjoy yourself," Cato continued. Peeta nodded, too exhausted to argue.

"Will Finnick and the others be there?" asked Peeta.

"Of course. It's Finnick's party, after all. Didn't I mention that?"

Peeta frowned. "You might have. It could have slipped my mind."

Cato smiled, pleased with his boyfriend's compliant attitude. He slowly stroked more hair back, making sure the bristles slowly dragged along the younger boy's scalp. "You will grow accustomed to our ways, you might even begin to enjoy it. I promise. When you learn to let go, anything's possible."

Peeta felt like every blink was dragged out, slow and drawn out. If he paused too long, his eyes would close and refuse to open again. Tonight was not the night for going out. Peeta could already see himself falling asleep against a wall with a drink in his hand.

Warm lips pressed against his bare shoulder, the touch spreading heat through his veins and gently curling around his heart. Peeta lightly fell back against Cato's front, his head tipping to the side and staying there. For now, all he had the energy for was letting Cato do what he wanted with him.

"You look beautiful," Cato murmured, his hands sliding up the younger boy's arms and resting on his shoulders. "You always look so beautiful."

"I'm tired," Peeta replied, his eyes slipping closed and staying that way.

"I know," Cato answered. He put the brush down and wound his arms around Peeta's small waist, pressing a comforting kiss below his ear. "Don't worry. You can sleep as much as you like after the party. But, until then . . ." Cato turned Peeta's face towards his and captured his lips in a strong kiss. Peeta leaned against Cato's strong body, practically slumped against him in exhaustion.

Cato lifted Peeta up into his arms and carried him to the bed. Peeta almost curled up on the mattress and fell asleep as soon as he was put down. Cato wasn't having this, however, and made sure he lay flat on his back on the mattress. Feeling like a rag doll, Peeta allowed Cato to do as he pleased, fatigue making him unwilling to fight. He barely noticed as the towel around his waist was removed and his legs were carefully parted. What he did notice, however, was when Cato's face disappeared between his legs and started working evil.

A small, almost inaudible, gasp escaped Peeta and his back made a tiny arch. Despite exhaustion and fatigue, the pleasure centre of the brain never ceased to amaze Peeta with its ability to stay prepared for action.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

~xXx~

Thankfully, the sleep managed to dissipate as the hours progressed. On the way to the party, Peeta thanked his lucky stars as he knew that Cato wouldn't appreciate it if he fell asleep during this 'deadly' important party. It was held in a private room above a popular club. Well, Peeta guessed it was popular, judging by the amount of people there, he really didn't know the place at all. The usual suspects were there. Finnick, Marvel, Joel, and the other poker buddies. The girls were there two. Their necks shackled with an arm that belonged to their partners and smiles so wide it was clear that they were fake. Clear to Peeta, anyway, he wasn't sure about anyone else.

Peeta ended up wedged between Cato and Finnick in a booth. Annie was there too but she was impossibly quiet, tracing patterns into the wood of the table and occasionally brushing her hair back. She only looked up when Finnick spoke to her, which was rare and scarce.

"I must say, you both look wonderful tonight," Finnick said. "Like a proper couple. It's nice to see you out together."

"I know. We've been meaning to get out and do something outside the apartment, haven't we, Peeta?" asked Cato.

Peeta nodded, knowing not to speak. He realized this was what the girls had probably been told as well. Don't speak unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Peeta, you're practically glowing tonight," Finnick pointed out, gesturing at his face. Peeta flinched, having expected to be either hit or touched. That seemed to be his body's reaction now every time someone raised their hand around him.

"Glowing and gorgeous, that's him," Cato replied, his arm feeling like a two tonne weight around Peeta's shoulders.

"Studies say that if your average person is glowing, it probably means that they've engaged in intercourse recently," Finnick commented. He quirked an eyebrow and Peeta looked away, his face flushing red in embarrassment. How could he tell things like that so easily? It was almost like Peeta just had whatever he didn't want people to know stamped across his forehead for them to read with ease. "Have you two been fooling around ever since I left yesterday?"

"I wouldn't say 'ever since'," Cato laughed. "Let's just say Peeta needed a little pick me up before the party."

Peeta felt like he was going to be sick, especially when Finnick laughed at this. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Annie glanced at him, eyes filled with sympathy, before returning to the table. "Can't we discuss something else?" he asked.

"Aww, are you shy?" Finnick teased.

"It's almost a curse," Cato explained. "But it can be very sexy as well."

"There's no need to be shy, we're all pretty much on the same boat here," Finnick said. He lifted his hand and placed it on Peeta's thigh, his fingers digging into him almost aggressively. Peeta looked at Cato with wide eyes, waiting for him to say to let go of his boyfriend and back the hell off.

He didn't.

Joel appeared seconds later with more packets of white powder. God, did they consume more than they sold or did they have crates full of the stuff lying around spare? When Annie received her packet, she excused herself to the bathroom. When she had gone, Finnick explained, "She doesn't take it in front of people. It turns her into a bit of a dinosaur."

Over the past few days, Peeta had been letting Cato do as he wished, which included giving him Nightlock whenever he felt it was fit. But tonight he really didn't want to. Not when he was wedged between a pervert and a neurotic psycho. Cato wasn't in the mood for arguing about it though and put Peeta's line out in the table in front of him.

"No, Cato," Peeta said. "I'm not doing this tonight."

"Just do it, Peeta," Cato replied. He actually had the nerve to sound exhausted.

"No! Why should I have to?"

Cato grabbed his hair and forced his head down to the table, so his nose was inches from the Nightlock line. Peeta squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a cry of pain, heart lurching into overdrive. "Do it."

"I don't have a straw," said Peeta, purposely being difficult.

"Take it without it."

"Is that even possible?!"

Finnick weighed in, with an unhelpful addition of, "Damn, Cato, you were right about his ass. It's pretty damn fine."

"I'm sure you know what plenty of those look like," Peeta muttered dryly.

Cato smacked his rear for the snarky comment, the force causing Peeta's face to come in contact with the table. The Nightlock stuck to his face like glue, a couple of particles finding their way up his nose and into his system. It wasn't enough to inhibit him, however, and he was all too aware of the pain branching up across his face and down his neck. His ass hurt too but he'd received worse for bad behaviour in the bedroom.

"Now look what you did," Cato sighed in frustration.

"Me?!" Peeta shouted.

"Yes, you."

Fed up, Peeta wretched himself out of Cato's grip. He could feel the fatigue creeping up on him again. Maybe it triggered every time Cato behaved like a violent asshole. Cato let him go easily. It seemed too easy and Peeta immediately knew it wasn't over yet. Peeta rubbed his nose to get rid of the Nightlock particles. He didn't want any more finding their way into his system.

"You might make me do this in our apartment but I am not doing it in a public place," said Peeta. "I am not going to be incoherent and wasted at a party. I'm not completely addicted just yet." He didn't add that he didn't intend to ever be either.

"And here's me thinking that your sour attitude had improved," said Cato.

Peeta sank back into the cushioned booth. When Cato spoke to him in this way, it made him feel like a scolded child. Why couldn't their relationship just be normal? Why did it have to change from loving to angry to sexy to childish? Peeta didn't know what Cato would come out with next. Would it be happy? Angry? Upsetting? It really was a random bag. A terrifying, random bag.

"This party sucks," Peeta muttered. As juvenile as the statement was, Peeta couldn't think of much else to say. It was pretty monotonous. Music faintly thumped in the background and everyone else seemed to have already taken their Nightlock. God, how did he get involved with druggies? He may have been able to learn to live with Cato but all of this? This was becoming too much.

"There are ways of making it better," said Finnick, kicking his feet up on the table, "but you rejected them."

"I'm not taking drugs in public," Peeta said firmly. "It's bad enough at home." He watched with a disgusted scowl as Finnick tapped a line out onto the top of his hand and sniffed it all up in one without pause. The older man groaned and let his head fall back against the seat, eyes slid shut in content. Peeta turned to Cato and took his head. "Cato, you know there are people that can help with this . . . addiction?" Peeta chose his words carefully, knowing that with topics like this, he had to act like he was treading on eggshells. "No one would judge you for it. That's what Doctors are for."

"I don't need help," Cato responded. His voice was clipped and measured, the signs clearly saying that he was mad. He really had no reason to be mad. If anyone should have been mad here, Peeta felt that he had the right to be angry.

However, wasn't this one of the signs of an addict? Not thinking they had a problem? Trying to be as calm and comforting as possible, he laid a careful hand on Cato's arm and said, "I understand that it's probably very difficult to admit but . . . I'm here for you. I love you, Cato, and I'll do whatever's possible to help." This much was true. Despite everything, Peeta was desperately in love with Cato. Irretrievably so. And if he could lend Cato a hand in saving himself from his drugs and the violence, then he would do everything in his power.

"Nightlock is not dangerous," said Cato. As he was saying this, he was tapping his own out onto the back of his hand. Finnick was still out of it, a dopey smile on his face.

"Paracetamol can be dangerous, if it's taken too much," Peeta replied. His fingers curled into Cato's sleeve, anxiously keeping hold of him as if he were about to be taken away from him. "Anything, if ever seems safe, will eventually become dangerous. If you took even the minutest of drugs the same amount that you take Nightlock, you're doing great damage to your system."

"You sound just like my mother sometimes, Peeta," Cato said.

Peeta raised his eyebrows. Cato never mentioned family or parents before, Maybe this was why. "Maybe your mother was just worried about your health," Peeta replied.

Cato laughed. "Yeah, right. That's why she kicked me out the day I turned eighteen. She didn't care about my health, she just wanted something about me to pick at."

"Eighteen? How long have you been taking Nightlock?" Peeta asked.

"Very long," Cato replied. He lifted the back of his hand to his nose and inhaled the white powder. Peeta winced, wondering how he could take it so easily. Whenever Peeta took it, it burned the interior of his nose, and yet Cato could do it like it was no problem. Well, maybe it wasn't. He had been taking it for a while.

Cato's eyes when there was Nightlock in his system frightened Peeta. There was barely any green as the black void of his pupils swallowed it. Peeta wondered if his own eyes did the same thing, the blue unrecognizable due to the drugs. "Cato?" Peeta asked.

"Yeah?" Cato's voice was slightly sloppy but besides this his general coherency seemed to be just fine.

"Why is this party so important?"

"All parties are important," Cato replied.

"Okay but there's important parties and there's _important_ parties," Peeta tried to insist.

"It's not very often that we all get to together," Cato explained, sluggishly gesturing to the other booths were everyone else were off their heads. Katniss was making out with the Gale guy and Peeta couldn't help wondering whether the powerful hand that was groping her breast was hurting her or not. Clove's head rested comfortably on the table, probably fast asleep, while Joel seemed to be passed out on top of her while Glimmer and Marvel seemed to be playing lethargic patty cake. "Anytime we're all together is important."

"It doesn't seem like you're all together," said Peeta. "Everyone is so mixed up in each other."

"But we're together. I can't tell you the amount of times we've lost people to sudden deaths. We spend as much time with each other as we can," Cato replied.

Peeta looked at the empty spot beside Finnick. "Why hasn't Annie returned?"

"Probably passed out in the bathrooms. She'll be fine," answered Cato.

Peeta opened his mouth to speak again but was silenced with a sudden kiss. It took him by surprise and he just sat there with wide eyes, unsure about whether he wanted to return it or not. Cato, in his inhibited state, didn't seem to care either way as he shoddily did most of the work. It was a swamp kiss. The messy, wet, uncoordinated sort of kiss that did nothing for Peeta except switch him off.

It had the opposite effect on Cato. Maybe because he was wasted, or because he liked chaos and rough play, whatever the reason, Peeta didn't know. All he knew was that the fire that normally grew inside of him when his boyfriend's tongue would lick and stroke his own wasn't there. And he was 50% sure that it was because of the drool that was dripping down his chin because of the magnitude of moisture that the kiss was producing.

"You look so hot tonight in that suit," Cato slurred as he lowered his head to devour Peeta's neck. Just like the kiss, this was wet and a little uncomfortable. It was like Cato was a vampire and he was trying to bite Peeta except he didn't have any teeth to do it with. "I've been dying to rip it off you all night."

"Ha ha, Cato. No offence but you're drunk," Peeta replied. He carefully pushed Cato away, the older man surprisingly compliant. Cato smiled dopily at him. Peeta had never seen him like this before. It was . . . weird. "You can't possibly expect this to happen here."

"Don't be so reserved," Cato replied. His hands pawed at Peeta's clothes, trying to pull his jacket off and pull his shirt out of his pants.

"Cato, stop it," Peeta said, scrabbling to find purchase on one of Cato's scurrying hands. "Not here. Cato. _Cato, no!"_

"Stop being a prude, Peeta," Cato sharply said. His slippery fingers managed to push open a couple of the top buttons on his shirt. "God, sometimes you act like such a baby."

"I'm not being a baby, I'm being reasonable," Peeta replied. He manage to catch Cato's wrist, which he held out of the way with all of his strength. "I'm not doing this here!"

A hand suddenly clamped around Peeta's mouth. It was a strong hand and the action shocked him into dropping Cato's wrist. He had completely forgotten about Finnick. The man who was now pulling him up against his body and restraining him by crossing his arms behind his head. Peeta tried to scream but no one seemed to pay any heed to it. He could swear that Glimmer glanced at him but decided to look away.

"This is so much easier when you take the Nightlock," Finnick said.

Cato yanked his own tie off and leaned forward, using the garment to gag Peeta and cease the screaming. It dug into the corners of his mouth and his teeth sank into the fabric but his voice wouldn't pass through it. It didn't stop his fight, however. He dragged his hips onto the booth seat and kicked out at Cato. His foot came in contact with Cato's jaw, blood flying from his mouth with a glob of spit.

"I've never seen someone with so much fire," said Finnick.

"I know, he's a feisty little one," leered Cato. "I'm such a lucky guy."

"The way he's behaving, you'd think I hadn't seen him naked before," Finnick commented.

Peeta paused, his foot lifted mid-kick. _What?_ He looked Cato in the eyes, hoping to God he didn't just hear what he thought he just heard. All his boyfriend did was smirk in response. _"Oh my God,"_ he thought. _"The blackouts . . . the dreams . . . they weren't really dreams, were they?"_

"Finnick!" Annie ran in from the bathroom. Her eyes were only a little blown up and she seemed to be much more conscious of her surroundings than the two men currently acting off their heads. "Finnick, stop!"

"Annie, stay out of this. Go wake up Joel or something, he's going to drool all over Clove's back," Finnick replied.

"Finnick, no, don't do this, please." Annie clamoured back into the booth and brushed her fingers through Finnick's hair, trying to cradle in his head in her arms. "When I told you that you could do what you wanted, I didn't mean like this. I didn't mean against their will. I will not sit around and condone rape. I can turn my head when it's only Cato but not when it's you. You're my responsibility. Just like I'm yours!"

"Annie, shut up." And just like that, Finnick thrust Annie away by placing a hand on the middle of her chest and pushing. Annie fell backwards like a rag doll and hit the floor hard. She didn't get up but Peeta could vaguely hear her breathing heavily on the ground. To push Annie away, Finnick had to let go of one of Peeta's arms and he used the opportunity to yank himself free.

He pushed Cato away from him with his foot and elbowed Finnick in the ribs. The second hand let go of his arm and he was free to jump away. Peeta had no way to escape on the sides as he was cornered so he tried to scramble across the table. Half way across, he saw Annie lying on the floor, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her breath.

A hand grabbed his ankle and pulled his feet out from under him. Peeta hit the wood of the table top hard. His teeth rattled as his chin smacked the corner. Whoever had grabbed him tried to yank him back but he hooked his elbows over the edge to try and hold out. Annie's eyes fluttered open and she tried to grab his hand.

"I'm s-sorry," she whispered, her weak attempt to help failing as her eyes rolled behind her head and passed out. Damn Nightlock.

Gathering all his strength, Peeta fell over the edge of the table as he gave one last almighty yank to free himself. He didn't let himself get overwhelmed with the shock and scrambled to his feet, pulling the tie away from his mouth on the way. However, he only got a few yards away from the table before he was tackled to the floor again.

"Where were you thinking of going?" Cato growled into his ear.

"Away from here!" Peeta shouted.

"Chill out, will you?" Cato hissed.

"I'm not letting you fuck me in front of all these people!" Peeta yelled. The carpet rubbed against his face, burning the skin of his cheek. "I'm not your cheap fucking whore!"

"You're the biggest whore I've ever met!" Cato shouted back. "You've let every man in this goddamn club have a go with you!"

Peeta squirmed underneath Cato. He froze when he felt something hard press against his ass. No. No. No. No. "No, I haven't!" he shouted, fighting not to move a muscle.

"Yeah, you have. Ask all of them," Cato snapped. "Which, by the way, I don't appreciate very much."

"I didn't do it!"

"You're a fucking slut under the influence." Cato lifted his weight off Peeta-holding him down by a hand pressing down on his neck. "You should be disgraced."

"Oh, so you mean this is when you fucking drugged me? That doesn't count!" Peeta shouted. "I thought you would look after me when I was drugged, not sell my body down the fucking river!" Cato spanked him, the action so unexpected that he screamed in surprise.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that!" Cato roared.

Past the point of caring was to happen to him, Peeta flew off the handle. "I'll fucking to talk to you whatever fucking way I want!" he screamed, struggling with all of his strength to get out from underneath his boyfriend. "I have put up with so much of your shit Cato, why can't you fucking start acting like a boyfriend for once?!"

Cato smacked him again and he cried out in pain. It burned him like a fire, sending his nerves into a fearful frenzy. His hands slid uselessly against the carpet as he tried to haul himself forward, the material tearing his skin open and making his fingertips bleed. Cato forced Peeta around onto his back, so their faces were inches apart. Cato's face was a picture of pure rage; his face red and screwed up. Peeta's was defiant and smouldering; jaw clenched, eyes on fire, lips sealed shut so tight crinkles formed around his mouth.

"I'm not your boyfriend," Cato confirmed. His voice was low but not quiet. As if he was announcing to the entire room, which was painfully silent.

Peeta frowned in befuddlement. "Then what are we?" he asked.

"I own you now. You _belong_ to me. And I will do whatever I please to you," Cato growled, as if stating an obvious fact.

"If you for once second believe that, then you truly are mad," Peeta hissed back. Cato slapped his face and he gritted his teeth, refusing to give him the amusement of showing pain. A much gentler hand suddenly touched his cheek, the pink skin screaming in pain immediately on contact.

"I love you, why can't you see that? I'm just trying to do right by you," Cato whispered.

"By hurting me?" Peeta replied, hope growing inside of him at his boyfriend's sudden gentle demeanour. "By drugging me and letting other guys . . ." He hated to acknowledge what had been done to him while he was drunk. ". . . abuse me?"

"It's just sometimes nice to see from a third person perspective what it's like to see you at the mercy of a man's touch," Cato tried to explain, as if it really were no big deal.

It was then that Peeta realized that there really was no getting through to Cato. In his eyes, he was doing nothing wrong, and Peeta was just being problematic. But how was their relationship supposed to continue if it was built upon violence and abuse and fear? It would never work. Peeta could see himself retreating into a shell of indifference, pretending he didn't care and allowing his body and mind to be used and threw away like a candy wrapper. He didn't want that. He owed himself as much as to not allow it to happen.

But was he really capable of it?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I can't apologize enough for how long this took. You guys understand about writer's block, right? I think it should be treated as medical condition.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Nine

In the darkness, Peeta slipped out of bed. He padded across the bedroom as quietly as he could and went to the door of the apartment. Crouching in front of it, he pulled a hair pin out of the hair at the back of his head, and jammed it into the lock. He wasn't trying to escape. Escape was impossible. There was just something he had to do.

The stairs outside the apartment were immersed in darkness. Peeta blindly moved forward and skipped down the stairs as quickly as he could. When Cato had dragged him back after Finnick's party, he had caught a glimpse of a phone in the reception area. There was still some time before Cato got back from work so if he was fast enough, he could be done and back upstairs without getting caught.

The phone remained where Peeta had first saw it. He greedily grabbed it and stabbed the buttons in the only number that remained in his head after so long.

"_Peeta?"_ Madge's voice was saddened but hopeful. _"Peeta, is that you?"_

"Yeah, Madge, it's me," Peeta whispered. He slid down to hide behind the deserted reception desk. The cold night air bit at his skin and he felt himself begin to shake already. However, this could have been because of the Nightlock that now permanently sat in his system.

"_Where have you been?!"_ Madge yelled. She didn't sound angry. She only sounded panicked.

"I can't say," Peeta replied.

"_Are you coming back soon?"_

Peeta closed his eyes and sighed. "No. I'm not."

"_Why? Where are you? You're calling from an unknown number. Please just tell me where you are."_

"I can't, Madge. Trust me," Peeta whispered. "Just . . . I just wanted you to know that I'm okay"-his voice shook at the word 'okay'-"and I . . . yeah, I'm . . . great."

"_Stop lying to me,"_ said Madge. _"Why are you lying to me?"_

"I'm not," Peeta denied, shaking his head as if she could see it.

"_We don't lie to each other. Remember? That pact?"_

Five years old. Sandbox. Purple sundress and tiny blue sneakers. Crossed fingers. Promising.

Peeta remembered.

"I'm not lying to you."

A small pause.

"_Promise?"_

Madge's voice was so small, Peeta felt the urge to cry. "I promise."

Another pause.

"_Please tell me where you are."_

Peeta felt like he was taking too much time. Cato would be coming back any time now. "I've got to go, Madge."

"_No, Peeta, don't you dare"-_

"Goodbye, Madge. You were a great friend."

"_Peeta!"-_

Peeta pressed his thumb against the red button on the phone and took a shaky breath. He would not cry. He felt like even if he wanted to cry, the tears would not come. Like he had cried all the tears he had left in his system. He knew that this wasn't the case because he was sure that within a few hours, he would be crying again. Mainly because of Cato.

He mounted the stairs again and shut the door quietly, crouching down again and locking it with the hair clip once more. His throat hurt but he wouldn't cry. Not yet anyway. At least somebody knew that he was okay now. As brief as the conversation was, it had given him a glimmer of hope.

A few hours later, Peeta sat at the top of the bed, picking at his fingernails to get them into some sort of order. Cato seemed to have gotten it into his head that Peeta was going to try to kill himself and had immediately gotten rid of any sharp objects. Including nail clippers. Why Cato thought that Peeta would commit suicide, he didn't know, but after they had gotten back from Finnick's party, Cato instantly started emptying out the kitchen drawers. Peeta thought it ridiculous as he had never even thought about suicide. Not until Cato started freaking out about it anyway. It would take a lot more than an attempted rape and a couple of bruises to scare Peeta into taking his own life.

However, he still felt like a fool. Cato decided everything he wore now; every morning Peeta felt like he was Cato's doll who he got to dress up and style every day. It wasn't that Cato didn't have a good sense of fashion, it was just that he hated the nightwear. Cato expected him to be okay with traipsing around the apartment in nothing but a thin silk robe that hid nothing and a pair of skin tight underwear. Peeta felt like a prostitute, not a man in a relationship.

"Stop picking your nails like that, you're going to hurt yourself."

Peeta flinched when Cato sat on the bed beside him against the head board. To give himself a little bit of dignity, Peeta had his legs tucked underneath the bedcovers to hide the fact that Cato's stupid brand of male silk robes were practically transparent. "They're getting too long," Peeta muttered.

"I'll cut them for you tomorrow, just leave it alone for now," said Cato. He placed his hand on top of Peeta's, the single appendage dwarfing both of Peeta's.

"Fine. I'll just go to sleep then." Peeta turned around to face away from Cato and pulled the quilt up to his chin. Ever since Finnick's party, he hadn't shown any desire towards Cato what-so-ever and treated him with a casual, indifferent attitude. Sometimes his voice came out clipped but he tried not to show anger. He tried not to show anything. To give Cato was he truly deserved: nothing.

Peeta shivered underneath the covers, the thick thermal quilt unable to provide enough heat to warm his practically naked body. He could feel Cato's natural body heat licking at his back teasingly, trying to grab him by the ankles and drag him under the older man's spell again. Peeta almost_ wanted_ to fall under the spell again. At least then he would have the naivety again to believe that Cato wasn't a crazed, bi-polar psycho.

When it became apparent that Peeta wasn't going to be making any sort of advance for what felt to Cato like the millionth night but had really only been the third, the older blond decided that it was about time he sorted things out for himself.

Peeta tensed as Cato's arm came around his waist. To someone who didn't understand the circumstances, this may seem sedated and not at all significant but to Peeta, every time Cato moved or touched him, he feared that he was about to be hurt in some shape or form. Cato dragged him closer so his back was against his front. It would be a lie to say that Peeta didn't appreciate the body heat and how it soothed his stone cold skin but this simple action made his mind race fearfully.

"You're looking very sexy tonight," Cato purred, burying his face into the crook of Peeta's neck. "I knew you'd suit these pyjamas." His hand trailed down Peeta's silk covered side, over the curve of his hip and scooting over mid-thigh so his hand cupped the smaller boy's butt cheek. Peeta quickly closed his eyes, pretending to have fallen asleep already.

Cato was persistent and Peeta's pretending only seemed to be spurring him on instead of slowing him down. It started off as small, almost unnoticeable strokes. So minute Peeta almost believed he _could_ actually get some sleep and let Cato do as he liked. It did not take long for the tune to change though and soon Peeta was wincing to himself as his ass cheeks were being roughly groped while his neck was being assaulted with wet kisses. He supposed Cato's dedication was admirable. Except the last thing on his mind was admiring anything.

Although Cato's willingness to grope his boyfriend while he was supposedly sleeping was questionable.

Having enough, Peeta decided he'd sleep on the sofa. He tried to get up but Cato immediately pulled him back down. "Leave me alone, Cato, I want to get up," Peeta snapped. He squirmed and struggled as Cato's strong arms enclosed his body and held onto him tight, hands sliding all over his body and ruffling up the silk robe so they could explore exposed skin.

"No, you're mad at me," Cato mumbled, lips moving against the side of Peeta's throat sloppily while he spoke. "I want to make up for what I did wrong." Peeta gasped-a sound trapped part way between surprise and disgust-when a hand roughly squeezed his pectoral.

"Wanna know how to make up for it? Let me go to sleep in peace." Peeta knew he was already losing, since he was somehow already on his stomach with Cato's hand gripping his neck tight and forcing his face into the pillow. It was almost like he didn't even protest too hard. Like he had already resigned himself to the fate of being raped by his boyfriend. Somehow he had sensed it was going to happen eventually.

A gentle hand feathered down the slope of his back, fingertips dancing on top of the silken transparent robe fabric. Peeta shivered. Moments like these threw him off. When Cato was being genuinely careful and caressed him like he would break if pressed too hard. Caring hands slowly pushed the fabric of the robe up his back to sit messily at his shoulder blades. Peeta buried his face further into the pillow in shame as his underwear was tugged down over the curve of his ass, slowly as if the undergarment was the wrapping paper of a Christmas present Cato couldn't wait to unwrap.

Peeta wished he could remember the times when shame and fear didn't flood him whenever he had sex with Cato. He wished he could be back then, when their relationship was fresh and just getting started. When he didn't have to worry about anything other than what he was going to make for dinner that night. Now there was nothing but fear. Every waking hour he spent with Cato was spent waiting for the next advance; the next blow; the next scream of rage.

And somehow, when Peeta imagined leaving Cato, his heart filled with dread and he knew that he couldn't. Cato had known what he had been doing all along. He had waited until Peeta had gotten to the same level of attachment as himself before he began to show his true colours. He did it so Peeta _wouldn't_ leave him when the bruises began to show and his body began to ache.

It was a cruel plan.

Pleasure left no prisoners. What had to be one of the most annoying things about the body was that it always reacted unfairly to a sexual touch. Sometimes Peeta wished he wasn't as young as he was, because maybe then his body wouldn't be as willing to be satisfied as it was now. Cato's touch still drove his nerves wild, no matter how angry he was with him, and Cato knew this. That was why his form of apology was always sex. Because he knew Peeta's body wouldn't allow him to say no.

Something wet dripped onto Peeta's back. He frowned. By now he had expected the surge of pain that came hand in hand with being entered by Cato, but it hadn't come. Peeta carefully turned around, balancing his weight on his elbows to keep himself supported. Cato sat there, kneeling over him like the grim reaper. Only his eyes were wet.

He was _crying._

Peeta didn't know what to do. "C-Cato?"

"You're mad at me," Cato said, the water in his eyes spilling over in a torrent. "You're mad at me and I don't know how to fix it."

"Cato . . ." It hurt Peeta to see Cato cry. He couldn't handle it. He reached out with a shaky hand and cupped Cato's cheek. "Trying to sex everything away won't erase the problems either."

"I just . . . I'm not good at this." Cato pressed his forehead against Peeta's and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's how it goes, right?"

"I want to believe you Cato, I really do, but are you even aware what you are apologizing for?" asked Peeta.

"Of course I do." There was a pregnant pause and Peeta waited. He expected Cato to continue and say what it was exactly he was apologizing for, but the silence dragged out until it was almost unbearable.

"Which is?" Peeta prompted. He had to hear it. He had to hear that Cato understood what he was apologizing for. Cato's recent instability lead to the swift and frequent mood swings that could be the reason for the sudden tears. Peeta _wanted_ to believe that Cato was feeling genuinely sorry but he didn't know what to believe anymore. For all he knew, after he forgave Cato, five minutes later he would be terrified again because Cato got angry over something seemingly small.

"I'm just . . . really sorry," Cato insisted.

"I understand that, Cato," Peeta said. "Just tell me what it is you're upset about. Tell me that you understand what you're sorry about. Tell me you get it."

"I do get it, Peeta, just say you forgive me please," replied Cato. His voice sounded almost desperate. Maybe Peeta's aversion to letting him getting away with things was causing him to freak out a little. This wasn't surprising, since his own aversion to going to see a doctor about his current mental state was causing the bi-polar tendencies to worsen.

Peeta grabbed the opportunity and slipped out from underneath Cato, tugging his underpants back up in the process. The silk robe fell back down, fluttering around him like a flock of butterflies. The damn thing was so short, Peeta couldn't see the practicality in it. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, his thoughts immediately turned to a hooker. All he needed was smudged make-up and his boxer briefs wadded up in his pocket.

Peeta turned his back on the mirror and faced Cato again. Desperation welled in his chest like an infection. "Cato, please tell me you understand. Without clarity your apologies are empty."

Cato sat down properly, his movements almost robotic. There was still water in his eyes but no tears fell. "Why don't you just trust me?" he asked, his voice accusing.

"I've trusted you before," said Peeta. His voice was fat and unemotional. "Then you tried to rape me. Not just that, you tried to rape me with someone else. Unless you understand how much that hurt me then I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again."

"That's what I'm sorry for," Cato said, clicking his fingers. He then frowned. "That's what you want me to be sorry for, right?"

Peeta stared at him. He slumped and wished he could accept that as a credit worth answer. "What did you believe you were saying sorry for?"

Cato shrugged, the tears almost all but gone by now. Peeta still couldn't wrap his head around how fast emotions could come and go through Cato's brain. In his mind, emotions had to be processed and felt but it seemed to Cato all he really felt was the impact before it slowly slid off him again. "You were mad at me. I assumed that sorry was what you wanted to hear."

Peeta shook his head. He lifted his hand to push his fingers through his hair but immediately cringed as he saw how he shook like a leaf. The Nightlock was beginning to affect his system.

"I don't get why you're still so hung up on that. It was two weeks ago, when are you going to let go?" asked Cato.

"You tried to rape me," Peeta said slowly. "You don't honestly think I'd get over that in a fortnight?"

"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself," Cato answered smoothly. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, hands behind his head. It was hard to believe that merely a second ago he was crying and apologizing. Now he was his regular smooth and charming self again. Peeta didn't know if he could keep up with all of this anymore. But then again, how could he leave? Where would he go? Cato would come after him. This was definite.

Peeta walked to the door. He needed a glass of water.

Before leaving, he said one last thing to Cato, "I don't enjoy anything anymore."

~xXx~

Peeta sat nervously on the couch in the practically defecated living room. This was definitely a drug den. It had to be. It seemed all the parties and high life had taken a pause while Cato and his gang took care of some 'business.' They had been on the way to what Cato had called the 'perfect make-up date ever', when Finnick had rang up saying that someone or other hadn't paid their Nightlock debt off.

Peeta wasn't a fool. He knew nothing good could come from what was about to happen. He could tell from how reluctant Cato had been to bring him along. Peeta had said that he could wait in the car but this wouldn't do as Cato didn't trust him to be in the car alone. He could run away, after all. And that wasn't acceptable.

The rusty hinges creaked angrily as the crumbling door swung open. Peeta's heart jumped into his throat as he expected to see Cato come out covered in blood or something. This didn't make sense anyway because there hadn't been any shouting or screams of pain. Peeta couldn't help jumping the gun to the worst case scenarios anyway.

What he didn't expect was to see Cato come out with his arm around the supposed perpetrator. The sight should have relaxed Peeta but the fact that Cato was carrying a gun, the weapon almost screaming to be noticed against everything else instantly threw him back onto the edge. Peeta had never seen a real gun before and as soon as his eyes landed on the weapon in Cato's hand, he stiffened in fear, as if it were going to be turned on him.

"Okay, here's how we're going to do this," Cato said to the snivelling mess he was currently palling up to. "We'll do a round of Russian Roulette and if you win, we'll let you off of all charges."

Russian Roulette? As in the thing with the guns and the pointing at the head?! Finnick came out of the room soon after, twirling another gun around his forefinger, whistling a merry tune. Peeta stood up and instantly drifted to Cato's side, unable to stop himself from worrying like a spinster.

When he saw him coming, Cato released the guy who was obviously the one in debt and turned to Peeta with a smile. It was like he was trying to put Peeta at ease, except it didn't work. "Cato, this is stupid," Peeta whispered. "Can't the guy just pay you back?"

"Peeta, this guy has been owing us money for months now," Cato explained. "We're past the point of paying back."

"But . . . but Russian Roulette is dangerous! You could die," Peeta whisper-hissed. A part of him wanted to step back and assess the situation. He was still dressed in the suit Cato had picked out for the 'make-up' date except he had pulled his tie out and his shirt was a little untucked. He felt like he was in one of those movies, where everything took such a sudden turn that no one had time to get changed. Which it sort of was like.

"Ah, look at this," Cato said. He wound an arm around Peeta's shoulders and ran the nozzle of the gun along his jawline. "My boyfriend's looking out for me." Peeta flinched and tried to step back again. Cato's grip on his arm was too tight however and all his escape attempt did was make him tighten it.

"So sweet," Finnick commented dryly, tossing the spare gun over to the debt ower.

"Afraid you'll miss me if I die?" Cato asked Peeta. He fixed Peeta with such a burning gaze, Peeta felt like he was about to melt into a puddle right there in front of him.

"Games of chance are stupid enough without throwing your life on the line for them," Peeta said firmly.

"That's why I didn't want to bring you into this lifestyle," Cato explained. He opened the barrel of his gun and slapped a bullet into one chamber before throwing it shut again. "I knew you'd be too afraid and innocent to cope with it. Finnick thought you were ready but I wasn't so sure. I was obviously right. However, the calm manner in which you are approaching the situation is admirable so well done for that."

"What is this, a test?" Peeta snapped. Cato ignored him and turned to face the guy who owed them money, who's gun was already loaded. When Cato lifted his arm to place the nozzle against his temple, Peeta placed his hand over the gun and looked at him pleadingly. "Please, don't do this."

If Cato died, would he be free? Or would Finnick just take him away for himself? Peeta didn't know why these questions mattered anyway because he knew it was hopeless to think about such a thing. He couldn't let Cato die. Especially not in such a stupid way. All it ever seemed to come down to was money. What was money when you didn't have you life to use it?

Cato smiled and Peeta didn't know whether it was because he was touched by how much he cared or if he was patronizing him. A second later Cato's lips were on Peeta's, claiming them voraciously and making his mark on them. Peeta feebly protested as Cato shoved his tongue down his throat but he knew it was fruitless. He knew what Cato was up to too. He was proving his position as Alpha to the debt ower. Showing him exactly what belonged to him.

When he pulled away, Cato shoved Peeta over to Finnick, who grabbed him and held him back. Peeta struggled and squirmed but he knew it was hopeless. Finnick had both of his arms around him, there was no way he could escape. Peeta was a little well built due to years of throwing sacks of flour around at the bakery but it was nothing compared to the muscles and strength that bulged out of Finnick's arms.

The debt ower seemed pretty confident, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. He spun the barrel of his gun and Cato mimicked the action, both simultaneously pressing the nozzles against their heads. Peeta couldn't watch. He shut his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, and prayed that everything would turn out okay. It had to.

A second later there was a loud bang. Peeta jumped in Finnick's grasp and couldn't contain his scream of fear. There was the faint thump of a body hitting the floor and Peeta didn't dare breath, didn't dare open his eyes, didn't dare move. Finnick stepped back but Peeta felt paralysed. Fear gripped him tighter than Finnick ever could and the realization of how dependent he had become on Cato crashed over Peeta like a wave. If Cato died, there wouldn't be much of Peeta's life that he could pick up again. Cato had _become_ his life, whether he liked it or not.

Peeta didn't realize that he was crying until his face was being cupped by familiar hands. This only made him cry harder, however, and despite everything he gravitated into Cato's embrace and buried his face in his chest.

"Loaded both of his barrels," Finnick said, giving the debt owner's body a small kick. "The moron didn't think to check before he spun and shot."

Peeta felt Cato's chuckle vibrate in his chest. "They're always so naïve," he sighed. Peeta had ran out of tears but was shaking violently, petrified after what he had just witnessed. "Look, I'd love to stay and help you and Marvel with the body but I should get Peeta home. I think he needs some Nightlock to calm down a little."

Peeta was so shaken up, he didn't protest when Cato lead him out to the car and took him back to the apartment. All he could think about was the debt ower's face and how one moment he had been alive and then the next he was dead. That could have been Cato, too, but he had gotten lucky. His gun had been loaded, Peeta had watched him do it, but it seemed fate was smiling down on them as it decided to spare Cato for another day.

"The first death is always the hardest," Cato gently said. He guided Peeta, who was still in a fear induced state, to the bedroom and took his clothes off, before helping him shrug on the stupid frilly robe again. After that he brought him back out into the sitting area and sat him down on the couch while he went off to collect some Nightlock.

Peeta felt like he was autopilot, allowing Cato to do as he wished because his head was too crowded. Was it possible to be crowded yet feel empty at the exact same time? When Cato returned with a bag of Nightlock, he pulled Peeta's head back to rest against the cushions and slowly tapped the powder directly into his nose. Peeta obediently inhaled, hoping that the drug would take away the pain for just a little bit while he recovered.

Cato carried Peeta to bed, tucking him in so tight Peeta almost felt trapped. Brushing the blond hairs back from his face, Cato leaned forward and kissed Peeta's forehead. "You'll get used to it, I promise," he whispered against the younger boy's skin.

But that was just it.

Peeta didn't want to get used to it.

**A/N: I don't know when I can update this again but I will do my best to write the next chapter asap :)**

**Please R&R! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: My plans for during the Christmas holidays and afterwards are posted in the below A/N!**

**Warning: Hinted rivalry, OC, hints of future violence, major sexual and emotional abuse, hinted rape.**

**Sorry for any typos! :)**

Chapter Ten

Compared to the previous drug den in which Peeta had been traumatised in, this one did not seem as bad. The hygiene was lot more up to standard, for starters, and it was a bar so there was constantly alcohol at hand. Peeta didn't know if he would be capable of getting through the night if he didn't have a drink in his hand. It seemed that all he ever seemed to be now-a-days is drugged up or drunk. Suspicion told him that this was better than going through all this crap completely sober.

Whoever owned the bar didn't owe a debt. According to Cato, he was actually a constant and loyal customer. Peeta wondered how you become close and loyal to such a violent bunch of people. Was it because they always had Nightlock? Or was it because once you make one purchase, you were already addicted?

Peeta wondered why he was here at all. After the Russian Roulette issue, he had thought that Cato would give him some time to adjust but it seemed that Cato was actually extremely determined to get Peeta adjusted to his ways. So that they could be together more often or something. At least no-one was going to get shot this time. Or, at least, Peeta hoped they wouldn't.

This place was supposedly popular, but Peeta had never heard about it. But then again he was more of a 'buy some vodka at the off license and drink it at home' sort of person opposed to a 'let's go out and get wasted!' sort of drinker so he wouldn't know which bars were popular and which weren't. Cato's crew were all there and it seemed that they had made a group decision that since this particular customer owned a bar that they should all just go out and get shit-faced after making the exchange. Peeta couldn't help thinking about how easy a life drug dealing must be. Make an exchange then you are free for the night. The money must be good, as well, since they hardly seem to do any work other than sorting out the shipments from where-ever they came in from.

This time, they didn't party in a private room, nor where they the only people in the bar. This made Peeta more nervous. Could the other patrons tell that they were criminals? Did he look like the accomplice of a criminal? Surely they couldn't tell. And even if they did, it should surely only be hunch. Right? The idea made Peeta want to shrink and slip between the floorboards.

None of the girls were there this time around. This was another factor that made Peeta nervous. The whole 'sharing partners' thing that Finnick had previously spoken about was the scariest thing Peeta had ever heard. It seemed alright when Gale and Marvel and Joel were all mixed in with their own girls but when none of them were there, did that mean that Peeta was fair game? Peeta could only hope that Cato stayed close.

The guys-Peeta was surprised that he still hadn't learned the name of their . . . drug crew?-did multiple drinking games. The sort that the only thing you can see is arms going up every few seconds to down vodka shot after vodka shot. It wouldn't take them long to get shit-faced. Peeta sometimes got tipsy enough from just drinking one shot too fast. He expected Cato to stumble over to him soon, being his usual drunken kissy self, and start demanding for sex just like he had done before when he and Finnick tried to rape him. Peeta shuddered and tried to focus his mind on other things. Except there wasn't much else to think about.

Someone sat beside him at the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, Peeta saw familiar blond hair, green eyes and muscular build. He spun a little in his seat, expecting to see Cato, and nearly fell out of his seat when he realized it wasn't. Thank God he didn't say anything. Discreetly pushing his fingers through his hair and leaning his head away, Peeta cradled his glass with his free hand while he fought back the embarrassed fire he felt threatening to spill out onto his face.

A finger tapped his shoulder. "You're Peeta, right?" A deep but smooth voice asked.

Peeta peered through the gap of his arm at the Cato's doppelganger suspiciously. "What if I am?" he asked cautiously. He had to be careful. He didn't know whether Cato would be happy if he saw him talking to other people. Especially not an insanely attractive male.

"Adrian Hadley," the man said, placing a hand on his chest in reference to himself. "I'm Cato's brother."

"Cato has a brother?" Peeta asked in disbelief. He straightened up a little but kept his guard up just in case.

"Didn't mention me?" Adrian sighed. Peeta shook his head. It would explain why they looked so similar. "Can't say I'm surprised. We don't exactly get along all that well. For . . . reasons . . ." Shaking his head, Adrian added, "You're his boyfriend though, right?"

"If you don't get along, how do you know who I am?" Peeta asked.

"Oh, everyone knows," Adrian laughed. Peeta must have looked alarmed as he backtracked to make is sound less . . . frightening. "It is the duty of every member of every gang to know everything about every member of every opposing gang. Especially in the case of people like Cato and Finnick. They're especially . . . popular."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "So you're a drug dealer too? Does it run in your family's blood or something?" he muttered.

"Certainly not in my mother's, anyway," Adrian answered. This made Peeta believe that maybe Adrian wasn't an imposter. Cato had mentioned that his mother had kicked him out when he turned eighteen because of his Nightlock addiction. "Cato and I, however, we haven't spoken in _months._ Probably because my lot and his, we don't usually mix."

"Why's that?" asked Peeta.

"Cato deals Nightlock, I prefer in dealing with the hard stuff," Adrian explained.

Peeta swallowed. Hard stuff? He would have thought that Nightlock _was_ the hard stuff. It was certainly capable of a lot. It turned him into a needy whore, apparently, and could wipe hours of your memory out in one clean slide. What possibly be harder than that? "What's harder than Nightlock?" he whispered in interest.

Adrian lowered his voice to a stage-whisper, amused by Peeta's worry of others overhearing them. "Tracker Jacker venom."

Peeta's eyes widened. Tracker Jacker's were deadly. Too much of their venom was fatal and even if you got stung once you would experience awful hallucinations. Why anyone would willingly inject themselves with the poison was beyond his comprehension. Adrian must have seen Peeta's shock as he elaborated.

"In recommended doses, obviously. Don't want the customers dropping like flies now, do I?" he said.

"How many different drugs are being dealt in the Capitol, exactly?" Peeta asked, still not confident enough to raise his voice above a whisper.

Adrian shrugged. It was odd how open he was about the profession whereas Cato was closed off on the topic. "I don't know, really. There's Nightlock dealers, Venom sellers . . . The saliva of a Jabberjay can work as Viagra and it sells well, depending on the season. Um, really any Capitol mutation has a euphoric fault."

Peeta took an anxious sip of his drink. His mind was whirling and, in retrospect, the alcohol didn't help. "And you say that all of these . . . dealers . . . know that I'm dating Cato?"

"Of course," said Adrian. "Come on, surely you didn't think that it wouldn't get out that Cato Hadley finally had a squeeze?"

A squeeze? That's what these people thought of him? Peeta took another drink and shook his head. He had never been one to care about what others thought of him but the term 'squeeze' made him sound like some sort of harlet who Cato rented out every weekend for a fuck. "Well that's just charming," he muttered sarcastically.

He could feel Adrian's eyes on him, even when he wasn't looking in his direction. The sensation they caused wasn't exactly as poignant as that of Cato's eyes but they still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Maybe it was a Hadley thing. After what felt like years of sitting in silence, Adrian finally broke it by asking the bartender to refill Peeta's drink and bring him a 'girl on fire', whatever that was.

Peeta could hear Cato's crew whooping at the back of the bar and he was glad that he wasn't there. They'd probably have him wedged in the middle, where his body would probably end up being a playground for those who didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves. "Cato's folks were always so unprofessional," Adrian muttered, a pint glass of red liquid pressed between his lips. "Drinking on the job? So foolish."

"Tell me about it," Peeta muttered back. He glanced at Adrian. "Younger or older?"

"Twin, actually," Adrian surprised Peeta by saying.

"Oh . . . wow." Adrian stared at Peeta in the same way as Cato and that worried him. If Cato saw that Adrian was here at all, he'd probably flip his lid, never mind the fact that Peeta was talking to him. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Honest thoughts?"

Peeta shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Well, I'm just saying to myself that I wouldn't mind having my face between _those_ legs." Adrian nodded his head in the direction of Peeta's thighs, making the younger boy flush and cross one knee over the other.

"Are all of you obsessed with sex or is just a gang thing?" Peeta asked, trying to keep his voice in line.

Adrian shrugged with an easy smile. "I'm pretty laid back, I'll admit. You did ask for honesty, remember. You can't have honesty and pussy footing at the same time."

Peeta knew this was true but he couldn't help how overwhelmed he still felt from the constant innuendos that seemed to come from all corners. Not all of them were directed at him, either. Gale sometimes told Joel he had a nice ass or Finnick would chew on Marvel's earlobe like a piece of gum. It was weird and disgusting. Peeta was just glad that he couldn't remember any of them having their hands on him.

"Want to know a secret?" asked Adrian, his voice finally hushed.

Peeta, curious, leaned closer when Adrian beckoned him closer. "You see Cato's lot? They wouldn't know true beauty if it walked up to them and smacked them across the face. They just want something to blow their load inside something that's half decent looking. _My_ guys?" Peeta flinched when Adrian's fingertips grazed his face and sat back the tiniest of bits. "My guys know what a beautiful creature looks like and we know how to treat them too."

Wetting his dry lips, Peeta asked, "What are you trying to say?"

Adrian's green eyes seemed to have a flicker of brown speckles in them. They weren't as bright as Cato's either. "If you ever tire of being treated like shit, I'm not too hard to find. I know how my brother works and the front you put up doesn't hide the pain you're harbouring."

"You want me to . . . what? Choose you?" Peeta asked incredulously.

"Not me, my side," said Adrian. Peeta could smell the alcohol on Adrian's breath and couldn't tell if he was being completely honest or not. "My people wouldn't dare harm pretty creatures. Cato never could see how bruises marred beauty."

Peeta could see where Adrian was going with this. It seemed that Cato and Adrian's rivalry ran so deep that his boyfriend's twin was trying to steal him away to his own side. "I'm sorry, you're too late," Peeta said curtly, slipping off his stool and leaving his drink only half empty. "I'll just stay with Cato. Besides, I know my way around his lot better . . ."

Adrian smirked. "I'm sure you do."

Peeta's jaw unhinged in horror. "I didn't mean in _that_ way! I just"-

"I know what you mean. You walk with a limp, it's obvious that you've been maltreated," Adrian shrugged. His eyes took on a serious look. "But if you think my brother will change then you're wrong."

Adrian's seriousness struck Peeta in a way he didn't like. He spun on his heel and walked away at a quickened pace, joining Cato and his pack of drunken idiots at the back. They welcomed him with open arms but instead of being wedged in the middle, Cato sat him down on his lap and used his ear as a chew toy for the remainder of the night.

Peeta tried to banish everything Adrian had said from his mind. He had to be loyal to Cato. Cato and no one else.

~PS~

Cato dragged his mouth down Peeta's bare chest and enclosed a soft nipple between his lips. Peeta moaned and threw his head back, his body arching upwards into Cato's. The sheets were tangled around them, their clothes strewn on the floor. Peeta had barely a chance to get a word in before Cato was stripping his clothes off for him. Something felt a little off, like Cato was trying to prove something, but Peeta didn't know what.

In moments like these, where Peeta felt so vulnerable and where he couldn't help himself, that he forgot completely about how his body was black and blue. About how most of his movements were enunciated with stiffness and pain. Moments like this one was when he could allow himself to fall away and just imagine he was making love with Cato.

A greedy hand grabbed his cock and stroked it mercilessly. Peeta cried out and begged Cato not to stop, even though he knew his boyfriend wouldn't dream of it. Cato bit down on the rock hard peak of Peeta's aroused bud before sliding his lips across the small distance to treat the neglected one, which had already hardened anyway and was aching with want. Peeta's knees drew together on instinct as his partner's hand continued to caress his throbbing manhood but they bumped into Cato's rock hard thighs inside of succeeding in covering himself up.

"I saw you talking to Adrian," Cato suddenly said.

Peeta tried to answer but instead cried out in pain when Cato's spare hand clutched his waist so tight the bruises screamed. So much for forgetting they were there. "I d-d-didn't . . . h-he came to m-me"-

"I know," Cato snapped, planting an almost bruising kiss on Peeta's mouth. He looked down between them, suddenly avidly interested in what his other hand was doing to Peeta. He watched his hand slide up and down his boyfriend's aroused cock, making the smaller boy underneath him flush in embarrassment. "What did he want?"

"I don't know," Peeta panted. The grip on his penis tightened to the point where it was no longer pleasurable and he screamed in agony. "I really don't know, Cato, I swear."

"What did he say to you?"

"He . . ." Peeta frantically searched his hazy brain and grabbed at the first thing he remembered. "He kept saying things about beautiful creatures and being treated well. I think he was propositioning me to join his side or something! He said you weren't going to change!" Tears streamed from his eyes as the pain down below increased.

"What did you say to him?" Cato demanded. Peeta shook his head, unable to remember. Cato stroked his cock, slow and hard. "What did you say to him?!" he roared.

Peeta sobbed brokenly. "I left! I went to you and the guys! I wouldn't join his side ever! I love you Cato, not him!" he yelled, laying it on thick. "I would never dream of leaving you in a million years!"

Cato had gone back to staring at his hand, which clutched Peeta's manhood like a vice. He smiled in this scary, deluded way that made Peeta want to run out of the house as fast as he could. "You know you belong to me, right?" he said slowly, his grip loosening. Peeta gasped in relief and whimpered when Cato started softly stroking his tender cock again, probably hoping to reignite what had been happening beforehand. "You belong to _me_, not to Adrian or anyone else."

"Okay," Peeta replied. He quickly rubbed his eyes and brushed the tears from his face. "I know, Cato. I'm sorry. I won't talk to him again." His stomach coiled tight with nerves and he trembled uncontrollably underneath Cato. "C-can I go to sleep now?"

"No." Peeta's heart sank as Cato gently pressed his face into the crook of his neck and pressed careful kisses there. "We haven't even started yet." A finger tenderly caressed the cleft of Peeta's ass, a hint to what Cato meant. Peeta resisted the urge to burst out crying again. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

Sleep and maybe, just maybe, never wake up again.

**A/N: My Plans for Christmas and Afterward:**

**CHRISTMAS HIATUS: 16TH OF NOVEMBER-10TH OF JANUARY**

**However, there may or may not be a Christmas Peetato one shot brewing around in my mind to be posted during the holidays ;)**

**Plans for after Christmas:**

**Continue scheduled updates of 'Tremble'.**

**Plan out where to go with 'Puppet Strings', pre-write some chapters and organize a schedule for it as well.**

**Get back to 'Me Katniss, you Peeta,' and 'Will you love me in the morning?'. Plan and organize! Yes, I really want to get back to both of these stories!**

**Hopefully please my readers! Sadly, January is when my mock exams begin but I'm going to try and do what I can for you all in between studying :D **


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